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S IDYLLS9rTHEKING|| 



BYAirRED L9KD TENNY69N M 



1LLUSTRA1E|)^Y HIRAM PUf NAM BARNCS 






PAGE 

Idylls of thk King: 

Dkdication I 

Thk Coming of Authur 4 

The Round Table : 

Gareth and Lynette 25 

Geraint and Enid 85 

Merlin and Vivien 155 

Lancelot and Elaine 193 

The Holy Grail 250 

Pellea and Ettarre 2S7 

The Last Tournament 313 

Guinevere 345 

The Passing of Arthur 373 

To the Queen 393 







IDYLLS OF THE KING. 



jt .::=> 



DEDICATION. 



These to His Memory — since he held them 

dear, 
Perchance as finding there unconsciously 
Some image of himself — I dedicate, 
I dedicate, I consecrate with tears — 
These Idylls. 

And indeed He seems to me 
Scarce other than my king's ideal knight, 
•' Who reverenced his conscience as his king ; 
Whose glory was, redressing human wrong ; 
Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it ; 
Who loved one only and who clave to her — "' 
Her — over all whose realms to their last isle, 
Commingled with the gloom of imminent war. 
The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse, 
Darkening the world. We have lost him : he is 
gone : 





We know him now : all narrow jealousies 

Are silent ; and we see him as he moved, 

How modest, kindly, all-accomplish'd, wise, 

With what sublime repression of himself. 

And in what limits, and how tenderly; 

Not swaying to this faction or to that ; 

Not making his high place the lawless perch 

Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage-ground 

For pleasure ; but thro' all this tract of years 

Wearing the white flower of a blameless life. 

Before a thousand peering littlenesses. 

In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, 

And blackens every blot : for where is he, 

Who dares foreshadow for an only son 

A lovelier life, a more unstainM, than his? 

Or how should England dreaming of kis 

sons 
Hope more for these than some inheritance 
Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine, 
Thou noble Father of her Kings to be. 
Laborious for her people and her poor — 
Voice in the ricli dawn of an ampler day — 
Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste 
To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace — 
Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam 
Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, 
Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed, 
Beyond all titles, and a household name. 
Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the Good. 




Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure : 
Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure, 
Remembering all the beauty of that star 
Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made 
One light together, but has past and leaves 
The Crown a lonely splendor. 



May all love, 
His love, unseen but felt, overshadow Thee, 
The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee, 
The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee, 
The love of all Thy people comfort Thee. 
Till God's love set Thee at his side again ! 





Leodogran, the King of Cameliard, 
Had one fair daughter, and none other child ; 
And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, 
Guinevere, and in her his one delight. 




For many a petty king ere Arthur came 
Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war 
Each upon other, wasted all the land ; 
And still from time to time the heathen host 
Swarm'd overseas, and harried what was left. 
And so there grew great tracts of wilderness. 
Wherein the beast was ever more and more. 
But man was less and less, till Arthur came. 
For first Aurelius lived and fought and died. 
And after him King Uther fought and died. 
But either faiPd to make the kingdom one. 
And after these King Arthur for a space. 
And thro' the puissance of his Table Round, 
Drew all their petty princedoms under him. 
Their king and head, and made a realm, and 
reign'd. 



And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, 
Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein. 




And none or few to scare or chase the beast ; 
So that wild dog, and wolf and boar and bear 
Came night and day, and rooted in the fields. 
And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. 
And ever and anon the wolf would steal 
The children and devour, but now and then. 
Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat 
To human sucklings ; and the children, housed 
In her foul den, there at their meat would growl. 
And mock their foster-mother on four feet, 
Till, straighten'd, they grew up to wolf-like men. 
Worse than the wolves. And King Leodogran 
GroanVl for the Roman legions here again. 
And Caesar's eagle : then his brother king 
Urien, assaiPd him : last a heathen horde, 
Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with 

blood, 
And on the spike that split the mother's heart 
Spitting the child, brake on him, till, amazed, 
He knew not whither he should turn for aid. 



But — for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, 
Tho' not without an uproar made by those 
Who cried, "He is not Uther's son " — the King 
Sent to him, saying, •' Arise, and help us thou ! 
For here between the man and beast we die." 



And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms. 
But heard the call, and came : and Guinevere 



^fe^i^J^^g^^ 




Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass ; 
But since he neither wore on helm or shield 
The golden symbol of his kinglihood. 
But rode a simple knight among his knights, 
And many of these in richer arms than he, 
She saw him not, or mark'd not, if she saw. 
One among many, tho" his face was bare. 
But Arthur, looking downward as he past, 
Felt the light of her eyes into his life 
Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitched 
His tents beside the forest. Then he drave 
The heathen ; after, slew the beast, and fell'd 
The forest, letting in the sun, and made 
Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight. 
And so returned. 



For while he lingered there, 
A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts 
Of those great Lords and Barons of his realm 
Flash'd forth and into war : for most of these, 
Colleaguing with a score of petty kings. 
Made head against him, crying, " Who is he 
That he should rule us? who hath proven him 
King Uther's son? for lo ! we look at him. 
And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor voice, 
Are like to those of Uther whom we knew. 
This is the son of Gorlois, not the King; 
This is the son of Anton, not the King." 








THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 



And Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt 
Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, 
Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere ; 
And thinking as he rode, " Her father said 
That there between the man and beast they die. 
Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts 
Up to my throne, and side by side with me? 
What happiness to reign a lonely king, 
Vext — O ye stars that shudder over me, 

earth that soundest hollow under me, 

Vext with waste dreams? for saving I be joined 
To her that is the fairest under heaven, 

1 seem as nothing in the mighty world. 
And cannot will my will, nor work my work 
Wholly, nor make myself in mine own realm 
Victor and lord. But were I join'd with her. 
Then might we live together as one life. 
And reigning with one will in everything 
Have power on this dark land to lighten it. 
And power on this dead world to make it live." 



Thereafter — as he speaks who tells the tale- 
When Arthur reached a field-of-battle bright 
With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the w^rld 
Was all so clear about him, that he saw 
The smallest rock far on the faintest hill. 
And even in high day the morning star. 
So when the King had set his banner broad. 
At once from either side, with trumpet-blast. 





And shouts, and clarions shrilling unto blood. 
The long-lanced battle let their horses run. 
And now the Barons and the kings prevail'd. 
And now the King, as here and there that war 
Went swaying ; but the Powers who walk the 

world 
Made lightnings and great thunders over him, 
And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might. 
And mightier of his hands with every blow. 
And leading all his knighthood threw the kings 
Carddos, Urien, Cradlemont of Wales, 
Claudias, and Clariance of Northumberland, 
The King Brandagoras of Latangor, 
With Anguisant of Erin, Morganore, 
And Lot of Orkney. Then, before a voice 
As dreadful as the shout of one who sees 
To one who sins, and deems himself alone 
And all the world asleep, they swerved and 

brake 
Flying, and Arthur calPd to stay the brands 
That hack VI among the flyers, " Ho ! they yield ! " 
So like a painted battle the war stood 
Silenced, the living quiet as the dead. 
And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. 
He laugh'd upon his warrior whom he loved 
And honored most. " Thou dost not doubt me 

King, 
So well thine arm hath wrought for me to-day." 
" Sir and my liege," he cried, " the tire of God 




THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 



•vVl 



Descends upon thee in the battle-field : 
I know thee for my King ! "' Whereat the two, 
For each had warded either in the fight, 
Sware on the field of death a deathless love. 
And Arthur said, " Man's word is God in man : 
Let chance what will, I trust thee to the death." 

Then quickly from the foughten field he sent 
Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere, 
His new-made knights, to King Leodogran, 
Saying, " If I in aught have served thee well. 
Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife."' 

Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart 
Debating— "How should I that am a king, 
However much he holp me at my need, 
Give my one daughter saving to a king. 
And a king's son? " — lifted his voice, and call'd 
A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom 
He trusted all things, and of him required 
His counsel : " Knowest thou aught of Arthur's 
birth?"' 





Then spake the hoary chamberlain and said, 
" Sir King, there be but two old men that know : 
And each is twice as old as I ; and one 
Is Merlin, the wise man that ever served 
King Uther thro' his magic art ; and one 
Is Merlin's master (so they call him) Bleys, 





Who taught him magic ; but the scholar ran 
Before the master, and so far, that Bleys 
Laid magic by, and sat him down, and wrote 
All things and whatsoever Merlin did 
In one great annal-book, where after-years 
Will learn the secret of our Arthur's birth." 

To whom the King Leodogran replied, 
*' O friend, had I been holpen half as well 
By this King Arthur as by thee to-day. 
Then beast and man had had their share of me : 
But summon here before us yet once more 
Ultius, and Brastias, and Bedivere." 

Then, when they came before him, the King 
said, 
" I have seen the cuckoo chased by lesser fowl. 
And reason in the chase : but wherefore now 
Do these your lords stir up the heat of war. 
Some calling Arthur born of Gorlois, 
Others of Anton? Tell me, ye yourselves. 
Hold ye this Arthur for King Uther's son? " 

And Ulfius and Brastias answered, " Ay." 
Then Bedivere, the tirst of all his knights 
Knighted by Arthur at his crowning, spake — 
For bold in heart and act and word was he, 
Whenever slander breathed against the King — 








^'1 



'k^\ 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

" Sir, there be many rumors on this head : 
For there be those who hate him in their hearts, 
Call him baseborn, and since his ways are sweet. 
And theirs are bestial, hold him less than man : 
And there be those who deem him more than 

man, 
And dream he dropt from heaven : but my belief 
In all this matter — so ye care to learn — 
Sir, for ye know that in King Uther's time 
The prince and warrior Gorlois, he that held 
Tintagil castle by the Cornish sea, 
Was wedded with a winsome wife, Ygerne : 
And daughters had she borne him, — one 

whereof. 
Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent, 
Hath ever like a loyal sister cleaved 
To Arthur, — but a son she had not borne. 
And Uther cast upon her eyes of love : 
But she, a stainless wife to Gorlois, 
So loathed the bright dishonor of his love. 
That Gorlois and King Uther went to war : 
And overthrown was Gorlois and slain 
Then Uther in his wrath and heat besieged 
Ygerns within Tintagil, where her men. 
Seeing the mighty swarm about their walls. 
Left her and fled, and Uther entered in. 
And there was none to call to but himself. 
So, compass'd by the power of the King, 
Enforced she was to wed him in her tears. 




%(m 



i" ! 



^^. 



T//£ COMING OF ARTHUR. 



And with a shameful swiftness : afterward, 
Not many moons, King Uther died himself, 
Moaning and wailing for an heir to rule 
After him, lest the realm should go to wiack. 
And that same night, the night of the new year, 
By reason of the bitterness and grief 
That vext his mother, all before his time 
Was Arthur born, and all as soon as born 
Deliver'd at a secret postern-gate 
To Merlin, to be holden far apart 
Until his hour should come ; because the lords 
Of that fierce day were as the lords of this, 
Wild beasts, and surely would have torn the child 
Piecemeal among them, had they known ; for 

each 
But sought to rule for his own self and hand. 
And many hated Uther for the sake 
Of Gorlois. Wherefore Merlin took the child. 
And gave him to Sir Anton, an old knight 
And ancient friend of Uther ; and his wife 
Nursed the young prince, and rear"d him with 

her own ; 
And no man knew. And ever since the lords 
Have foughten like wild beasts among them- 
selves. 
So that the realm has gone to wrack : but now. 
This year, when Merlin (for his hour had come) 
Brought Arthur forth, and set him in the hall. 
Proclaiming, ' Here is Uther"s heir, your king,' 



•f::^ 






\ '^V;' 













r//£ COMING OF ARTHUR. 



A hundred voices cried, ' Away witli liim ! 

No king of ours ! a son of Gorlois he, 

Or else the child of Anton, and no king, 

Or else baseborn.' Yet Merlin thro' his craft. 

And while the people clamor"d for a king, 

Had Arthur crown'd ; but after, the great lords 

Banded, and so brake out in open war." 

Then while the King debated with himself 
If Arthur were the child of shamefulness, 
Or born the son of Gorlois, after death, 
Or Uthers son, and born before his time. 
Or whether there were truth in anything 
Said by these three, there came to Cameliard, 
With Gawain and young Modred, her two sons. 
Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent ; 
Whom as he could, not as he would, the King 
Made feast for. saying, as they sat at meat, 

" A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas. 
Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men 
Report him ! Yea, but ye — think ye this king — 
So many those that hate him, and so strong, 
So few his knights, however brave they be — 
Hath body enow to hold his foemen down?" 

" O King," she cried, " and I will tell thee: 
few. 
Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him ; 



.3).v ■" < ».. 




For I was near him when the savage yells 
Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat 
Crown'd on the dais, and his warriors cried, 
' Be thou the king, and we will work thy will 
Who love thee/ Then the King in low deep 

tones. 
And simple words of great authority. 
Bound them by so strait vows to his own self. 
That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, 

some 
Were pale as at the passing of a ghost. 
Some flushed, and others dazed, as one who wakes 
Half-blinded at the comiuLr of a light. 



" But when he spake and cheer'd his Table 
Round 
With large divine and comfortable words 
Beyond my tongue to tell thee — I beheld 
From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash 
A momentary likeness of the King: 
And ere it left their faces, thro" the cross 
And those around it and the Crucified, 
Down from the casement over Arthur, smote 
Flame-color, vert and azure, in three rays. 
One falling upon each of three fair queens, 
Who stood in silence near his throne, the friends 
Of Arthur, gazing on him, tall, with briglit 
Sweet faces, who will help him at his need. 




I 




" And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit 
And hundred winters are but as the hands 
Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. 



"And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, 
•;cf5- Who- knows a subtler magic than his own — 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword. 
Whereby to drive the heathen out : a mist 
Of incense curl'd about her, and her face 
Well-nigh was hidden in the minster gloom ; 
But there was heard among the holy hymns 
A voice as of the waters, for she dwells 
Down in a deep, calm, whatsoever storms 
May shake the world, and when the surface rolls. 
Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord. 

" There likewise I beheld Excalibur 
Before him at his crowning borne, the sword 
That rose from out the bosom of the lake, 
And Arthur row'd across and took it — rich 
With jewels, elfin Urim, on the hilt, 
Bewildering heart and eye — the blade so bright 
That men are blinded by it — on one side, 
Graven in the oldest tongue of all this world, 
' Take me,' but turn the blade and ye shall see. 
And written in the speech ye speak yourself, 
' Cast me away ! ' And sad was Arthurs face 
Taking it, but old Merlin counsell'd him. 




THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

' Take thou and strike ! the time to cast away 
Is yet far-off.' So this great brand the king 
Took, and by this will beat his foemen down."' 

Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought 
To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd,' 
Fixing full eyes of question on her face, 
" The swallow and the swift are near akin, 
But thou art closer to this noble prince. 
Being his own dear sister ; " and she said, 
" Daughter of Gorlois and Ygerne am I ; " 
" And therefore Arthur's sister .-^ " ask'd the King. 
She answer'd, " These be secret things," and 

sign'd 
To those two sons to pass and let them be. 
And Gawain went, and breaking into song 
Sprang out, and followed by his flying hair 
Ran like a colt, and leapt at all he saw : 
But Modred laid his ear beside the doors, 
And there half-heard ; the same that afterward 
Struck for the throne, and striking found his 
doom. 

And then the Queen made answer, "What 
know I ? 
For dark my mother was in eyes and hair. 
And dark in hair and eyes am I ; and dark 
Was Gorlois, yea and dark was Uther too. 
Well-nigh to blackness ; but this King is fair 




^< 



l(^ 




THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

Beyond the race of Britons and of men. 

AIoreoNcr, always in my mind I hear 

A cry from out the dawning of my life, 

A mother weeping, and I hear her say, 

• O that ye had some brother, pretty one, 

To guard thee on the rough ways of the world.' " 

"Ay," said the King, "and hear ye such a 
cry.? 
But when did Arthur chance upon thee first?" 



V*- 



"OKing!" she cried, "and I will tell thee 

true : 
He found me first when yet a little maid : 
Beaten I had been for a little fault 
Whereof I was not guilty ; and out I ran 
And flung myself clown on a bank of heath. 
And hated this fair world and all therein, 
And wept, and wish'd that I were dead ; and he — 
I know not whether of himself he came. 
Or brought by Merlin, who, they say, can walk 
Unseen at pleasure — he was at my side 
And spake sweet words, and comforted my heart, 
And dried my tears, being a child with me. 
And many a time he came, and evermore 
As I grew greater grew with me ; and sad 
At times he seem'd, and sad with him was I, 
Stern too at times, and then I loved him not, 
But sweet again, and then I loved him well. 




And now of late I see him less and less, 
But those first days had golden hours for me. 
For then I surely thought he would be king. 



t. 



" But let me tell thee now another tale : 
For Bleys, our Merlin's master, as they say, 
Died but of late, and sent his cry to me, 
To hear him speak before he left his life. 
Shrunk like a fairy changeling lay the mage ; 
And when I entered told me that himself 
And Merlin ever served about the King, 
Uther, before he died ; and on the night 
When Uther in Tintagil past away 
Moaning and wailing for an heir, the two 
Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe, 
Then from the castle gateway by the chasm 
Descending thro' the dismal night — a niglit 
, In which the bounds of heaven and earth were 

lost — 

Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps 
It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof 
A dragon wing'd, and all from stem to stern 
Bright with a shining people on the decks. 
And gone as soon as seen. And then the two 
Dropt to the cove, and watch'd the great sea f;\ll. 
Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, 
Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep 
And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged 
Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame : 






THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 



19 



i 



And down the wave and in the flame was borne 
A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, 
Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried • The 

King! 
Here is an heir for Uther ! ' And the fringe 
Of that great breaker, sweeping up the strand, 
Lash'd at the wizard as he spake the word, 
And all at once all round him rose in fire. 
So that the child and he were clothed in fire. 
And presently thereafter followed calm. 
Free sky and stars : ' And this same child,' he 

said, 
' Is he who reigns ; nor could I part in peace 
Till this were told.' And saying this the seer 
Went thro' the strait and dreadful pass of death. 
Not ever to be question'd any more 
Save on the further side ; but when I met 
Merlin, and ask'd him if these things were 

truth — 
The shining dragon and the naked child 
Descending in the glory of the seas — 
He laugh'd as is his wont, and answerd me 
In riddling triplets of old time, and said : 

" ' Rain, rain, and sun ! a rainbow in the sky ! 
A young man will be wiser by and by : 
An old man's wit may wander ere he die. 

Rain, rain, and sun ! a rainbow on the lea ! 
And truth is this to me, and that to thee ; 
And truth or clothed or naked let it be. 



.^ 





Rain, sun, and 
blows : 
Sun, rain, and sun ! and where is he who knows? 
From the great deep to the great deep he goes.' 

" So Merlin riddling anger'd me ; but thou 
Fear not to give this King thine only child, 
Guinevere : so great bards of him will sing 
Hereafter ; and dark sayings from of old 
Ranging and ringing thro' the minds of men, 
And echo'd by old folk beside their fires 
For comfort after their wage-work is done, 
Speak of the King ; and Merlin in our time 
Hath spoken also, not in jest, and sworn 
Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, 
But pass, again to come ; and then or now 
Utterly smite the heathen underfoot. 
Till these and all men hail him for their king." 



* 



i 



She spake and King Leodogran rejoiced. 
But musing " Shall I answer yea or nay?" 
Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and 

saw. 
Dreaming, a slope of land that ever grew, 
Field after field, up to a height, the peak 
Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king. 
Now looming, and now lost ; and on the slope 
The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was 

driven, 



.J^-.4*;~^'* 











^' 5-v5i;\i. 



A\«^<^%vl\i^B,^^^xS^^'ntt:»- 



Fire glimpsed ; and all the land from roof and 

rick. 
In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, 
Streamed to the peak, and mingled with the haze 
And made it thicker; while the phantom king 
Sent out at times a voice ; and here or there 
Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest 
Slew on and burnt, crying, " No king of ours, 
No son of Uther, and no king of ours ; " 
Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze 
Descended, and the solid earth became 
As nothing, but the King stood out in heaven, 
Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent 
Ulfius, and Brastias and Bedivere, 
Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. 



Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he lo\ed 
And honored most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth 
And bring the Queen ; — and watch'd him from 

the gates : 
And Lancelot past away among the flowers, 
(For then was latter April) and returned 
Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. 
To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint. 
Chief of the church in Britain, and before 
The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King 
That morn was married, while in stainless white. 
The fair beginners of a nobler time. 
And glorying in their vows and him, his knights 




TTW^x 








Stood round him, and rejoicing in his joy. 
Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, 
The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, 
The Sun of May descended on their King, 
They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, 
Roird incense, and there past along the hymns 
A voice as of the waters, while the two 
Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love : 
And Arthur said, " Behold, thy doom is mine. 
Let chance what will, I love thee to the death ! " 
To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, 
" King and my lord, I love thee to the death ! " 
And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake, 
J j " Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world 

Other, and may thy Queen be one with thee, 
And all this Order of thy Table Round 
Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King I " 

So Dubric said ; but when they left the shrine 
Great Lords from Rome before the portal stood, 
In scornful stillness gazing as they past; 
Then while they paced a city all on fire 
With sun and cloth of gold, the trumpets blew. 
And Arthur's knighthood sang before the 
King: — 

" Blow trumpet, for the world is white with 
May ; 
Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away ! 
Blow thro' the living world — ' Let the Kins reign." 



51 





" Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's 
realm? 
Flash brand and lance, fall battleaxe upon helm, 
[^. Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King 

reign. 

"Strike for the King and live! his knights 

have heard 
That God hath told the King a secret word. 
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand ! Let the King 

reign. 

" Blow trumpet ! he will lift us from the dust. 
Blow trumpet ! live the strength and die the lust ! 
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand ! Let the King 
reign. 

" Strike for the King and die ! and if thou diest. 
The King is King, and ever wills the highest. 
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand ! Let the King 
reign. 

" Blow, for our Sun is mighty in his May ! 
Blow, for our Sun is mightier day by day ! 
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand ! Let the King 
reign. 

"The King will follow Christ, and we the \,\ 

King 
In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. 
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand ! Let the King 

reign." 




-r^,'?/'^/^'' 



if 



So sang the knighthood, moving to their hall. 
There at the banquet those great Lords from 

Rome, 
The slowly-fading mistress of the world. 
Strode in, and claim'd their tribute as of yore. 
But Arthur spake, " Behold, for these have sworn 
To wage my wars, and worship me their King ; 
The old order changeth, yielding place to new ; 
And we that fight for our fair father Christ, 
Seeing that ye be grown too weak and old 
To drive the heathen from your Roman wall. 
No tribute will we pay : " so those great lords 
Drew back in wrath, and Arthur strove with 

Rome. 

And Arthur and his knighthood for a space 
Were all one will, and thro' that strength the 

King 
Drew in the petty princedoms under him. 
Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame 
The heathen hordes, and made a realm and 

reign'd. 




I 






\<:^^^ ' 



"^>Tr^ - --^^ 




THE ROUND TABLE 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. THE HOLY GRAIL. 

GERAINT AND ENID. PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

MERLIN AND VIVIEN. THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

LANCELOT AND ELAINE. GUINEVERE. 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 



The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent, 
And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring 
Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine 
Lost footing, fell, and so was whirl'd away. 
" How he went down," said Gareth, " as a false 

knight , 

Or evil king before my lance if lance 
Were mine to use — O senseless cataract. 
Bearing all down in thy precipitancy — 
And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows 
And mine is living blood : thou dost His will. 
The Maker's, and not knowest, and I tliat know, 




■••«l 



GAKETH AND LYNETTE. 

Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall 

Linger with vacillating obedience, 

Prison'd, and kept, and coax"d and whistled to — 

Since the good mother holds me still a child ! 

Good mother is bad mother unto me ! 

A worse were better; yet no worse would I. 

Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force 

To weary her ears with one continuous prayer. 

Until she let me fly discaged to sweep 

In ever-highering eagle-circles up 

To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop 

Down upon all things base, and dash them dead, 

A knight of Arthur, working out his will, 

To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he 

came 
With Modred hither in the summertime, 
Ask'd me to tilt with him, the proven knight. 
Modred for want of worthier was the judge. 
Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said, 
' Thou hast half prevail'd against me,' said so — 

he — 
Tho' Modred biting his thin lips was mute. 
For he is alway sullen : what care I ? " 

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair 
Askxl, " Mother, tho' ye count me still the child, 
Sweet mother, do ye love the child ? " she laugh'd, 
" Thou art but a wild-goose to question it." 
" Then, mother, an ye love the child," he said, 






1 



^VO 



<^' 



■\\^ 







GARETH AND LYXETTE. 

" Being a goose and rather tame than wild, 
Hear the child's story." " Yea, my well-beloved, 
An 'twere but of the iroose and golden eggs." 




And Gareth answerd her with kindling eyes, 
" Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine 
Was finer gold than any goose can lay ; 
For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid 
Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm 
As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours. 
And there was ever haunting round the palm 
A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw 
The splendor sparkling from aloft, and thought 
' An I could climb and lay my hand upon it, 
Then were I wealthier than a leash of kings.' 
But ever when he reach'd a hand to climb. 
One, that had loved him from his childhood, 

caught 
And stay'd him, ' Climb not lest thou break thy 

neck, 
I charge thee by my love,' and so the boy, 
Sweet mother, neither clomb, nor brake his neck, 
But brake his very heart in pining for it, 
And past away." 

To whom the mother said, 

" True love, sweet son, had risk'd himself and 

climb'd, 

I ..-■.' vi 
And handed down the golden treasure to him." l'C.^"':A 



I 







GARETH AND LYXETTE. 

And Gareth answer'd her with kindling eyes, 
" Gold? said I gold? — ay then, why he, or she. 
Or whosoe'er it was, or half the world 
Had ventured — had the thing I spake of been 
Mere gold — but this was all of that true steel. 
Whereof they forged the brand Excalibur, 
And lightnings play'd about it in the storm. 
And all the little fowl were flurried at it. 
And there were cries and clashings in the nest, 
That sent him from his senses : let me eo." 



I 'Oil 

lb: 



Then Bellicent bemoan'd herself and said, 
" Hast thou no pity upon my loneHness? 
Lo, where thy father Lot beside the hearth 
Lies like a log, and all but smouldered out ! 
Forever since when traitor to the King 
He fought against him in the Barons' war. 
And Arthur gave him back his territory. 
His age hath slowly droopt, and now lies there 
A yet-warm corpse, and yet unburiabje. 
No more ; nor sees, nor hears, nor speaks, nor 

knows. 
And both thy brethren are in Arthur's hall. 
Albeit neither loved with that full love 
I feel for thee, nor worthy such a love : 
Stay therefore thou ; red berries charm the bird. 
And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the wars. 
Who never knewest finger-ache, nor pang 
Of wrench'd or broken limb — an often chance 









h 




■ — ^-^^ ^-^^11^ — --^^^^ — — — - — ^..xTtf ~^£) ■ / 



GAKETH AND LYNETTE. 



29 



In those brain-stunning shocks, and tourney- 
falls, 
Frights to my heart ; but stay : follow the deer 
By these tall firs and our fast-falling burns ; 
So make thy manhood mightier day by day ; 
Sweet is the chase : and I will seek thee out 
Some comfortable bride and fair, to grace 
Thy climbing life, and cherish my prone year. 
Till falling into Lot's forgetfulness 
I know not thee, myself, nor anything. 
Stay, my best son ! ye are yet more boy than 
man." 



If 



Then Gareth, " An ye hold me yet for child. 
Hear yet once more the story of the child. 
For, mother, there was once a King, like ours. 
The prince his heir, when tall and marriageable, 
Ask'd for a bride ; and thereupon the King 
Set two before him. One was fair, strong, 

arm'd — 
But to be won by force — and manv men 
Desired her; one, good lack, no man desired. 
And these were the conditions of the King : 
That save he won the first by force, he needs 
Must wed that other, whom no man desired, 
A red-faced bride who knew herself so vile, 
That evermore she long'd to hide herself, 
Nor fronted man or woman, eye to eye — 
Yea — some she cleaved to, but they died of her 




9^ 



-» •••••• :_iiiii ^-~r a «,*sf i) . //' 



30 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 



\,0\ 



And one — they calPd her Fame ; and one, — O 

Mother, 
How can ye keep me tether'd to you — Shame ! 
Man am I grown, a man's work must I do. 
Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the King, 
Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the 

King — 
Else, wherefore born?" 

To whom the mother said. 
" Sweet son, for there be many who deem him 

not. 
Or will not deem him, wholly proven King — 
Albeit in mine own heart I knew him King, 
/ \_ When I was frequent with him in my youth, 

And heard him kingly speak, and doubted him 
No more than he, himself; but felt him mine. 
Of closest kin to me : yet — wilt thou leave 
Thine easeful biding here, and risk thine all. 
Life, limbs, for one that is not proven King? 
Stay, till the cloud that settles round his birth 
Hath lifted but a little. Stay, sweet son." 

And Gareth answered quickly. " Not an hour, 
So that ye yield me — I will walk thro' fire. 
Mother, to gain it — your full leave to go. 
Not proven, who swept the dust of ruin'd Rome 
From off the threshold of the realm, and crush'd 
The Idolaters, and made the people free? 
Who should be King save him who makes us 
free?" 



\ 



5 



'"^^^S 





^\ 



31 

So when the Queen, who long had sought in 
vain 
To break him from the intent to wliich he grew. 
Found her son's will unwaveringly one, 
She answered craftily, " Will ye walk thro' fire? 
Who walks thro' fire will hardly heed the smoke. 
Ay, go then, an ye must : only one proof. 
Before thou ask the King to make thee knight. 
Of thine obedience and thy love to me, 
Thy mother, — I demand." 

And Gareth cried, 
" A hard one, or a hundred, so 1 go. 
Nay — quick ! the proof to prove me to the 
quick ! " 

But slowly spake the mother looking at him, 
"Prince, thou shalt go disguised to Arthur's 

hall, 
And hire thyself to serve for meats and drinks 
Among the scullions and the kitchen-knaves, 
And those that hand the dish across the bar. 
Nor shalt thou tell thy name to any one. 
And thou shalt serve a twelvemonth and a day." 

For so the Queen believed that when her son 
Beheld his only way to glory lead 
Low down thro' villain kitchen-vassalage, 
Her own true Gareth was too princely-proud 
To pass thereby ; so should he rest with her, 
Closed in her castle from the sound of arms. 




•■•••• * - ■■— Ttf .-<'<j--0 ■ If 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 



\,0\ 



Silent awhile was Gareth, then replied, 
" The thrall in person may be free in soul, 
And I shall see the jousts. Thy son am I, 
And since thou art my mother, must obey. 
I therefore yield me freely to thy will ; 
For hence will I, disguised, and hire myself 
To serve with scullions and with kitchen-knaves ; 
Nor tell my name to any — no, not the King." 

Gareth awhile linger'd. The mother's eye 
Full of the wistful fear that he would go, 
And turning toward him wheresoever he turn"d, 
Perplext his outward purpose, till an hour. 
When wakened by the wind which with full voice 
Swept bellowing thro' the darkness on to dawn. 
He rose, and out of slumber calling two 
That still had tended on him from his birth, 
Before the wakeful mother heard him, went. 



i 



The three were clad like tillers of the soil. 
Southward they set their faces. The birds made 
Melody on branch, and melody in mid air. 
The damp hill-slopes were quicken'd into green, 
And the live green had kindled into flowers. 
For it was past the time of Easterday. 

So, when their feet were planted on the plain 
That broaden'd toward the base of Camelot, 
Far off they saw the silver-misty morn 











GARETH AND LYNETTE. 



II 




Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount, 
That rose between the forest and the field. 
At times the summit of the high city flash'd ; 
At times the spires and turrets half-way down 
Prick'd thro' the mist : at times the great gate 

shone 
Only, that opened on the field below : 
Anon, the whole fair city had disappear'd. 

Then those who went with Gareth were amazed, 
One crying, " Let us go no fiirther, lord. 
Here is a city of Enchanters, built 
By fairy Kings."' The second echo'd him, 
" Lord, we have heard from our wise man at 

home 
To Northward, that this King is not the King, 
But only changeling out of Fairyland, 
Who drave the heathen hence by sorcery 
And Merlin's glamour."' Then the first again, 
" Lord, there is no such city anywhere, 
But all a vision." 



Gareth answer'd them 
With laughter, swearing he had glamour enow 
In his own blood, his princedom, youth and 

hopes, 
To plunge old Merlin in the Arabian sea ; 
So push'd them all unwilling toward the gate. 
And there was no gate like it under heaven. 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 



For barefoot on the keystone, which was Uned 
And rippled like an ever-fleeting wave, 
The Lady of the Lake stood : all her dress 
Wept from her sides as water flowing away ; 
But like the cross her great and goodly arms 
Stretch'd under all the cornice and upheld : 
And drops of water fell from either hand ; 
And down from one a sword was hung, from one 
A censer, either worn with wind and storm ; 
And o'er her breast floated the sacred fish ; 
And in the space to left of her, and right. 
Were Arthur's wars in weird devices done, 
New things and old co-twisted, as if Time 
Were nothing, so inveterately, that men 
Were giddy gazing there ; and over all 
High on the top were those three Queens, the 

friends 
Of Arthur, who should help him at his need. 



t 



S 



Then those with Gareth for so long a space 
Stared at the figures, that at last it seem'd 
The dragon-boughts and elvish emblemings 
Began to move, seethe, twine and curl : tliey 

call'd 
To Gareth, " Lord, the gateway is alive." 



I 



m 



And Gareth likewise on them fixt his eyes 
So long, that ev'n to him they seem'd to move. 
Out of the city a blast of music peaFd. 






^Mi^^^^^S^ 




Back from the gate started the three, to whom 
From out thereunder came an ancient man, 
Long-bearded, saying, " Who be ye, my sons?" 

Then Gareth, " We be tillers of the soil. 
Who leaving share in furrow come to see 
The glories of our King : but these, my men, 
(Your city moved so weirdly in the mist) 
Doubt if the King be King at all, or come 
From Fairyland ; and whether this be built 
By magic, and by fairy Kings and Queens ; 
Or whether there be any city at all. 
Or all a vision : and this music now 
Hath scared them both, but tell thou these the 
truth." 

Then that old Seer made answer playing on 

him , 
And saying, " Son, I have seen the good ship 

sail 
Keel upward and mast downward in the heavens, 
And solid turrets topsy-turvy in air : 
And here is truth ; but an it please thee not, 
Take thou the truth as thou hast told it me. 
For truly as thou sayest, a Fairy King 
And Fairy Queens have built the city, son ; 
They came from out a sacred mountain-cleft 
Toward the sunrise, each with harp in hand. 
And built it to the music of their harps. 






-—TV ~->r-» 



h ?~ 



36 



GA RE TH A ND L YNE TTE. 



And as thou sayest it is enchanted, son. 

For there is nothing in it as it seems 

Saving the King ; tho' some there be tliat hold 

The King a shadow, and the city real . 

Yet take thou heed of him, for, so thou pass 

Beneath this archway, then wilt thou become 

A thrall to his enchantments, for the King 

Will bind thee by such vows, as is a shame 

A man should not be bound by, yet the which 

No man can keep ; but, so thou dread to swear, 

Pass not beneath this gateway, but abide 

Without, among the cattle of the field. 

For an ye heard a music, like enow 

They are building still, seeing the city is built 

To music, therefore never built at all, 

And therefore built forever." 

Gareth spake 
Anger'd, " Old Master, reverence thine own 

beard 
That looks as white as utter truth, and seems 
Well-nigh as long as thou art statured tall ! 
Why mockest thou the stranger that hath been 
To thee fair-spoken ? " 

But the Seer rephed, 
'• Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards? 
' Confusion, and illusion, and relation, 
Elusion, and occasion, and evasion?' 






i 



I 

01 





I mock thee not but as thou mockest me, 
And all that see thee, for thou art not who 
Thou seemest, but I know thee who thou art. 
And now thou goest up to mock thee King, 
Who cannot brook the shadow of any He." 

Unmockingly the mocker ending here 
Turned to the right, and past along the plain ; 
Whom Gareth looking after said, " My men. 
Our one white lie sits like a little ghost 
Here on the threshold of our enterprise. 
Let love be blamed for it, not she, nor I r 
Well, we will make amends." 

With all good cheer 
He spake and laugh'd, then entered with his twain 
Camelot, a city of shadowy palaces 
And stately, rich in emblem and the work 
Of ancient kings who did their days in stone : 
Which Merlin's hand, the Mage at Arthur's court. 
Knowing all arts, had touched, and everywhere 
At Arthur's ordinance, tipt with lessening peak 
And pinnacle, and had made it spire to heaven. 
And ever and anon a knight would pass 
Outward, or inward to the hall : his arms 
Clash'd ; an-d the sound was good to Gareth's ear. 
And out of bower and casement shyly glanced 
Eyes of pure women, wholesome stars of love ; 
And all about a healthful people stept 
As in the presence of a gracious king. 









LYNETTE. 



Then into hall Gareth ascending heard 
A voice, the voice of Arthur, and beheld 
Far over heads in that long-vaulted hall 
The splendor of the presence of the King 
Throned, and delivering doom — and looked no 

more — 
But felt his young heart hammering in his ears, 
And thought, "For this half-shadow of a lie 
The truthful King will doom me when I speak." 
Yet pressing on, tho' all in fear to find 
Sir Gawain or Sir Modred, saw nor one 
Nor other, but in all the listening eyes 
Of those tall knights, that ranged about the 

throne. 
Clear honor shining like the dewy star 
Of dawn, and faith in their great King, with pure 
Affection, and the light of victory, 
And glory gain'd, and evermore to gain. 

Then came a widow crying to the King, 
" A boon. Sir King! Thy father, Uther, reft 
From my dead lord a field with violence : 
For howsoe'er at first he proffer'd gold. 
Yet, for the field was pleasant in our eyes. 
We yielded not ; and then he reft us of it 
Perforce, and left us neither gold nor field." 

Said Arthur, "Whether would ye? gold or 
field?" 
To whom the woman weeping, " Nay, my lord, 
The field was pleasant in my husband's eye." 



'^\ 



CARET// AND LYNETTE. 39 



And Arthur, " Have thy pleasant field again, 
And thrice the gold for Uther's use thereof, 
According to the years. No boon is here. 
But justice, so thy say be proven true. 
Accursed, who from the wrongs his father did 
Would shape himself aright ! " 

And while she past 
Came yet another widow crying to him, 
" A boon. Sir King ! Thine enemy, King, am I. 
With thine own hand thou slewest my dear lord, 
A l<night of Uther in the Barons' war, 
When Lot and many another rose and fought 
Against thee, saying thou wert basely born 
I held with these, and loathe to ask thee aught. 
Yet lo ! my husband's brother had my son 
Thraird in his castle, and hath starved him 

dead ; 
And standeth seized of that inheritance 
Which thou that slewest the sire hast left the 

son. 
So tho' I scarce can ask it thee for hate. 
Grant me some knight to do the battle for me, 
Kill the foul thief, and wreak me for my son." 






Then strode a good knight forward, crying to \\ 
him, 

" A boon, Sir King ! I am her kinsman, I. , .. .,. 

Give me to right her wrong, and slay the man." \i:v"-/A 



Then came Sir Kay, the seneschal, and cried, 
"A boon, Sir King! ev'n that thou grant her 

none, 

This railer, that hath mock'd thee in full hall — 
None ; or the wholesome boon of gyve and gag." 

But Arthur, " We sit King, to help the wrong'd 
Thro' all our realm. The woman loves her lord. 
Peace to thee, woman, with thy lovds and hates ! 
The kings of old had doomed thee to the flames, 
Aurelius Emrys would have scourged thee dead. 
And Uther slit thy tongue : but get thee hence — 
Lest that rough humor of the kings of old 
Return upon me ! Thou that art her kin, 
Go likewise ; lay him low and slay him not, 
But bring him here, that I may judge the right, 
According to the justice of the King : 
Then, be he guilty, by that deathless King 
Who lived and died for men, the man shall die." 

Then came in hall the messenger of Mark, 
A name of evil savor in the land. 
The Cornish king. In either hand he bore 
What dazzled all, and shone far-otTas shines 
A field of charlock in the sudden sun 
Between two shmvers. a cloth of palest gold, 
Which down he laid before the throne, and 

knelt. 
Delivering, that his lord, the vassal king, 







i 



i 





'?•" 

^4; 



Was ev'n upon his way to Camelot ; 
For having heard that Arthur of his grace 
Had made his goodly cousin, Tristram, knight, 
And, for himself was of the greater state. 
Being a king, he trusted his liege-lord 
Would yield him this large honor all the more ; 
So pray'd him well to accept this cloth of gold. 
In token of true heart and fealty. 



m 



Then Arthur cried to rend the cloth, to rend 
In pieces, and so cast- it on the hearth. 
An oak-tree smoulder'd there. " The goodly 

knight ! 
What ! shall the shield of Mark stand among 

these .^ '" 
For, midway down the side of that long hall 
A stately pile, — whereof along the front, 
Some blazon'd, some but carven, and some 

blank. 
There ran a treble range of stony shields, — 
Rose, and high-arching overbrow'd the hearth. 
And under every shield a knight was named : 
For this was Arthur's custom in his hall ; 
When some good knight had done one noble 

deed. 
His arms were carven only; but if twain 
His arms were blazon'd also ; but if none 
The shield was blank and bare without a sign 
Saving the name beneath ; and Gareth saw 




L YNE TTE. 

The shield of Gawain blazon'd rich and bright, 
And Modred's blank as death ; and Arthur cried 
To rend the cloth and cast it on the hearth. 



K9\ 



" More like are we to reave him of his crown 
Than make him knight because men call him 

king. 
The kings we found, ye know we stay'd their 

hands 
From war among themselves, but left them kings ; 
Of whom were any bounteous, merciful, 
Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them we en- 

roird 
Among us, and they sit within our hall. 
But Mark hath tarnished the great name of king, 
As Mark would sully the low state of churl : 
And, seeing he hath sent us cloth of gold. 
Return, and me^t, and hold him from our eyes. 
Lest we should lap him up in cloth of lead. 
Silenced forever — craven — a man of plots. 
Craft, poisonous counsels, wayside ambushings — 
No fault of thine : let Kay the seneschal 
Look to thy wants, and send thee satisfied — 
Accursed, who strikes nor lets the hand be seen ! " 






I 



i 



m 



And many another sui)pliant crying came 
With noise of ravage \Vrought by beast and man. 
And evermore a knight would ride awav- 



0U 




/ 



'(§) 



■■:c'- 



W) 



Last, Gareth leaning both hands heavily 
Down on th^ shoulders of the twain, his men. 
Approached between them toward the king, and 

ask'd. 
" A boon, Sir King (his voice was all ashamed). 
For see ye not how weak and hungerworn 
I seem — leaning on these ? grant me to serve 
For meat and drink among thy kitchen-knaves 
A twelvemonth and a day, nor seek my name. 
Hereafter I will fiirht.'' 



W 



f 





To him the King, 
" A goodly youth and worth a goodlier boon ! 
But so thou wilt no goodlier, then must Kay, 
The master of the meats and drinks, be thine.' 



r 



£l 



He rose and past ; then Kay, a man of mien 
Wan-sallow as the plant that feels itself 
Root-bitten by white lichen, 

" Lo ye now ! 
This fellow hath broken from some Abbey, where, 
God wot, he had not beef and brewis enow. 
However that might chance ! but an he work. 
Like any pigeon will I cram his crop. 
And sleeker shall he shine than any hog." 

Then Lancelot standing near, " Sir Seneschal, 
Sleuth-hound tliou knowest, and gray, and all 
the hounds ; 



<^ 




A horse thou knowest, a man thou dost not know : 
Broad brows and fair, a fluent hair and fine. 
High nose, a nostril large and fine, and hands 
Large, fair and fine ! — Some young lad's m^vs- 

tery — 
But, or from sheepcot or king's hall, the boy 
Is noble-natured. Treat him with all grace, 
Lest he should come to shame thy judging of 

him."' 



\A 



Then Kay," What murmurest thou of mysterv? 
Think ye this fellow will poison the King's dish? 
Nay, for he spake too fool-like : mystery ! 
Tut, an the lad were noble, he had ask'd 
For horse and armor: fair and fine, forsooth ! 
Sir Fine-face, Sir Fair-hands ? but see thou to it 
That thine own fineness, Lancelot, some fine day 
Undo thee not — and leave mv man to me." 



So Gareth all for glory underwent 
The sooty yoke of kitchen-vassalage ; 
Ate with young lads his portiion by the door. 
And couch'd at night with grimy kitchen-knaves. 
And Lancelot ever spake him pleasantly. 
But Kay the seneschal who loved him not 
Would hustle and harry him, and labor him 
Beyond his comrade of the hearth, and set 
To turn the broach, draw water, or hew wood. 
Or grosser tasks ; and Gareth Ijow'd himself 



I 



GARETH AA'D LYNETTE. 



Ws 



'■•k 



With all obedience to the King, and wrought 
All kind of service with a noble ease 
That graced the lowliest act in doing it. 
And when the thralls had talk among them- 
selves. 
And one would praise the love that linkt the King 
And Lancelot — how the King had saved his life 
In battle twice, and Lancelot once the King's — 
For Lancelot was the first in Tournament. 
But Arthur mightiest on the battle-field 
Gareth was glad. Or if some other told, 
How once the wandering forester at dawn, 
Far over the blue tarns and hazy seas. 
On Caer-Eryri's highest found the King, 
A naked babe, of whom the Prophet spake, 
'• He passes to the Isle Avilion, 
He passes and is heard and cannot die" — 
Gareth was glad. But if their talk were foul. 
Then would he whistle rapid as any lark. 
Or carol some old roundelay, and so loud 
That first they mock'd, but, after, reverenced him. 
Or Gareth telling some prodigious tale 
Of knights, who sliced a red life-bubbling way 
Thro' twenty folds of twisted dragon, held 
All in a gap-mouth'd circle his good mates 
Lying or sitting round him, idle hands, 
Charm'd ; till Sir Kay, the seneschal, would come 
Blustering upon them, like a sudden wind 
Among dead leaves, and drive them all apart. 



46 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 



Or when the thralls had sport among themselves, 

So there were any trial of mastery. 

He, by two yards in casting bar or stone 

Was counted best ; and if there chanced a joust. 

So that Sir Kay nodded him leave to go. 

Would hurry thither, and when he saw the knights 

Clash like the coming and retiring wave. 

And the spear spring, and good horse reel, the 

boy 
Was half beyond himself for ecstasy. 

So for a month he wrought among the thralls ; 
But in the weeks that followed, the good Queen, 
Repentant of the word she made him swear. 
And saddening in her childless castle, sent. 
Between the in-crescent and de-crescent moon. 
Arms for her son, and loosed him from his vow. 

This, Gareth hearing from a squire of Lot 
With whom he used to play at tourney once. 
When both were children, and in lonely haunts 
Would scratch a ragged oval on the sand, 
And each at either dash from either end — 
Shame never made girl redder than Gareth joy. 
He laugh'd ; he sprang. " Out of the smoke, at 

once 
1 leap from Satan's foot to Peter's knee — 
These news be mine, none others — nay, the 

King's — 
Descend into the city : " whereon he sought 
The King alone, and found, and told hmi all. 




I 



GARETH AXD LYNETTR. 



i\ 



" I have stagger'd thy strong Gawain in a tilt 
For pastime ; yea, he said it : joust can I. 
Make me thy knight — in secret ! let my name 
Be hidd'n, and give me the first quest, 1 spring 
Like flame from ashes." 

Here the King's calm eye 
Fell on, and checked, and made him flush, and 

bow 
Lowly, to kiss his hand, who answered him, 
*' Son, the good mother let me know thee here. 
And sent her wish that I would yield thee thnie. 
Make thee mv knight? my knights are sworn to 

vows 
Of utter hardihood, utter gentleness, 
And, loving, utter faithfulness in love. 
And uttermost obedience to the King." 

1 

Then Gareth, lightly springing from his knees, 

" My King, for hardihood I can promise thee. 

For uttermost obedience make demand 

Of whom ye gave me to, the Seneschal. 

No mellow master of the meats and drinks ! 

And as for love. ,God wot, I love not yet. 

But love I shall, God willing." 

And the King ^ 
" Make thee my knight in secret? yea, but he, 
Our noblest brother, and our truest man. 
And one with me in all, he needs must know." 





And the King — 
" But wherefore would ye men should wonder 

at you? 
Nay, rather for the sake of me. their King, 
And the deed's sake my knighthood do the deed, 
Than to be noised of." 

Merrily Gareth ask'd, 
" Have I not earned my cake in baking of it ? 
Let be my name until 1 make my name ! 
My deeds will speak : it is but for a day." 
So with a kindly hand on Gareth's arm 
Smiled the great King, and half-unwillingly 
Loving his lusty youthhood yielded to him. 
Then, after summoning Lancelot privily, 
•' 1 have given him the first quest: he is not 

proven. 
Look therefore when he calls for this m hall, 
Thou get to horse and follow hun far away. 
Cover the lions on thy shield, and see 
Far as thou mayest, he be nor ta'en nor slain." 

Then that same day there past into the hall 
A damsel of high lineage, and a brow 
May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blossom, 






GARETII AND LYXETTE 



Hawk-eves ; and lightly was her slender nose 

Tip-lilted like the petal of a flower ; 

She into hall past with her page and cried, 



'• O King, for thou hast driven the foe without, 
See to the foe within ! bridge, ford, beset 
By bandits, every one that owns a tower 
The Lord for half a league. Why sit ye there? 
Rest would I not, Sir King, an I were king. 
Till ev'n the lonest hold were all as free 
From cursed bloodshed, as thine altar-cloth 
From that best blood it is a sin to spill." 



3i .::=»' 



" Comfort thyself," said Arthur, " I nor mme 
Rest : so my knighthood keep the vows they 

swore. 
The wastest moorland of our realm shall be 
Safe, damsel, as the centre of this hall. 
What is thy name? thy need?" 



^;^ 



" My name? " she said — 
•' Lynette my name; noble; my need, a knight 
To combat for my sister, Lyonors, 
A lady of high lineage, of great lands, 
And comely, yea, and comelier than myself. 
She lives in Castle Perilous : a river 
Runs in three loops about her living-place ; 
And o'er it are three passings, and three knights 
Defend the passings, brethren, and a fourth 



I 



>7ri?^^ 




And of that tour the mightiest, holds her stay'd 

In her own castle, and so besieges her 

To break her will, and make her wed witli him : 

And but delays his purport till thou send 

To do the battle with him, thy chief man 

Sir Lancelot whom he trusts to overthrow. 

Then wed, with glory : but she will not wed 

Save whom she loveth. or a holy life. 

Now therefore have 1 come for Lancelot." 



if 



Then Arthur mindful of Sir Gareth ask'd. 
" Damsel, ye know this Order lives to crush 
All wrongers of the Realm. But say, these four. 
Who be they? What the fashion of the men.-^" 

" They be of foolish fashion, O Sir King, 
11 The fashion of that old knight-errantry 
^' ^Who ride abroad and do but what they will : 
Courteous or bestial from the moment, such 
As have nor law nor king : and three of these 
Proud in their fantasy call themselves the Day, 
J Worning-Star, and Noon-Sun, and Evening-Star, 
'/ Being strong fools ; and never a whit more wise 
I The fourth, who alway rideth arm'd in black, 
y A huge man-beast of boundless savagery. 
/^\J He names himself the Night and oftener Death, 
And wears a helmet mounted with a skull. 
And bears a skeleton figured on his arms. 
To show that who may slay or scape the three 



\ 



b 
i 






s 










it 



Slain by himself shall enter endless night. 
And all these four be fools, but mighty men, 
And therefore am I come for Lancelot." 

Hereat Sir Gareth call'd from where he rose, 
A head with kindling eyes above the throng. 
"A boon, Sir King — this quest ! " then — for 

he marked 
Kay near him groaning like a wounded bull — 
" Yea, King, thou knowest thy kitchen-knave 

am I, 
And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks am I, 
And I can topple over a hundred such. 
Thy promise. King," and Arthur glancing at him. 
Brought down a momentary brow. '• Rough, 

sudden. 
And pardonable, worthy to he knight — 
Go therefore," and all hearers are amazed. 

But on the damsel's forehead shame, pride, 
wrath 
Slew the May-white : she lifted either arm, 
" Fie on thee, King! I ask'd for thy chief knight. 
And thou hast given me but a kitchen-knave." 
Then ere a man in hall could stay her, turn'd. 
Fled down the lane of access to the King. 
Took horse, descended the slope street, and past 
The weird white gate, and paused without, beside 
The field of tourney, murmuring "kitchen- 
knave." 




Now two great entries open'd from the hall, 
At one end one, that gave upon a range 
Of level pavement where the King would pace 
At sunrise, gazing over plain and wood ; 
And down from this a lordly stairway sloped 
Till lost in blowing trees and tops of towers ; 
And out by this main doorway past the King. 
But one was counter to the hearth, and rose 
High that the highest-crested helm could ride 
Therethro' nor graze : and by this entry fled 
The damsel in her wrath, and on to this 
Sir Gareth strode, and saw without the door 
King Arthur's gift, the worth of half a town, 
A warhorse of the best, and near it stood 
The two that out of north had follow'd him : 
This bare a maiden shield, a casque ; that held 
The horse, the spear, whereat Sir Gareth loosed 
A cloak that dropt from collar-bone to heel, 
A cloth of roughest web, and cast it down, 
And from it like a fuel-smother'd fire. 
That lookt half-dead, brake bright, and flash'd 

as those 
Dull-coated things, that makmg slide apart 
Their dusk wing-cases, all beneath there burns 
A jeweird harness, ere they pass and fly. 
So Gareth ere he parted flash"d in arms. 
Then as he donn'd the helm, and took the 

shield 
And mounted horse and graspt a sjjear, of grain 



S 



I 





Storm-strengthen"d on a windy site, and tipt 
Witli trenchant steel, around him slowly prest 
The people, while from out of kitchen came 
The thralls in throng, and seeing who had work'd 
Lustier tlian any, and whom they could but love. 
Mounted in arms, threw up their caps and cried, 
" God bless the King, and all his fellowship ! " 
And on thro" lanes of shouting Gareth rode 
Down the slope street, and past without the gate. 



So Gareth past with joy : but as the cur 
Pluckt from the cur he fights with, ere his cause 
Be cooFd by fighting, follows, being named. 
His owner, but remembers all, and growls 
Remembering, so Sir Kay beside the door 
Mutter'd in scorn of Gareth whom he used 
To harry and hustle. 

" Bound upon a quest 
With horse and arms — the King hath past his 

time — 
My scullion knave ! Thralls to your work again, 
For an your fire be low ye kindle mine ! 
Will there be dawn in West and eve in East ? 
Begone ! — my knave ! — belike and like enow 
Some old head-blow not heeded in his youth 
So shook his wits they wander in his prime — 
Crazed ! How the villain lifted up his voice. 
Nor shamed to bawl himself a kitchen-knave. 





Tut : he was tame and meek enow with me, 
Till peacocked up with Lancelot's noticing. 
Well — I will after my loud knave, and learn 
Whether he know me for his master yet. 
Dut of the smoke he came, and so my lance 
Hold, by God's grace, he shall into the mire - 
Thence, if the King awaken from his craze. 
Into the smoke again." 



^'L 




But Lancelot said, 
" Kay, wherefore wilt thou go against the King, 
For that did never he whereon ye rail. 
But ever meekly served the King in thee? 
Abide : take counsel ; for this lad is great 
And lusty, and knowing both of lance and sword." 
" Tut, tell not me," said Kay, " ye are overhne 
To mar stout knaves with foolish courtesies : " 
Then mounted, on thro' silent faces rode 
Down the slope city, and out beyond the gate. 

But by the field of tourney lingering yet 
Mutter'd the damsel, "Wherefore did the King 
Scorn me? for, were Sir Lancelot lackt, at least 
He might have yielded to me one of those 
Who tilt for lady's love and glory here. 
Rather than — O sweet heaven ! O fie upon 

him — 
His kitchen-knave." 



5 





-ir>, 



To whom Sir Gareth drew 
(And there were none but few goodlier than he) 
Sinning in arms, " Damsel, the quest is mine. 
Lead, and I follow.'" She thereat, as one 
That smells a foul-flesh'd agaric in the holt. 
And deems it carrion of some woodland thing. 
Or shrew, or weasel, nipt her slender nose 
With petulant thumb and finger, shrilling, 

" Hence ! 
Avoid, thou smellest all of kitchen-grease. 
And look who comes behind," for there was Kay. 
'• Knowest thou not me? thy master? I am Kay. 
We lack thee by the hearth." 



^^ 



And Gareth to him, 
•* Master no more! too well I know thee, ay — 
The most ungentle knight in Arthur's hall." 
" Have at thee then," said Kay: they shocked, 

and Kay 
Fell shoulder-slipt, and Gareth cried again, 
" Lead, and I follow," and fast away she fled. 

But after sod and shingle ceased to fly 
Behind her, and the heart of her good horse 
Was nigh to burst with violence of the beat. 
Perforce she stay'd, and overtaken spoke. 

" What doest thou, scullion, in my fellowship? 
Deem'st thou that I accept thee aught the more 



S-2^J 




Or love thee better, that by some device 
Full cowardly, or by mere unhappiness, 
Thou has overthrown and slain thy master — 

thou ! — 
Dish-washer and broach-turner, loon ! — to me 
Thou smellest all of kitchen as before." 



" Damsel," Sir Gareth answer'd gently, " say 
Whatever ye will, but whatsoe'er ye say. 
I leave not till 1 finish this fair quest. 
Or die therefore." 

"Ay. wilt thou finish it? 
Sweet lord, how like a noble knight he talks ! 
The listening rogue hath caught the manner of 

it. 
But, knave, anon thou shalt be met with, knave. 
And then by such a one that thou for all 
The kitchen brewis that was ever supt 
Shalt not once dare to look him in the face." 

" I shall assay," said Gareth with a smile 
That madden'd her, and away she flash'd again 
Down the long avenues of a boundless wood. 
And Gareth following was again beknaved. 

" Sir Kitchen-knave, I have miss'd the only 
way 
Where Arthur's men are set along the wood ; 




I 




/ 



p 

fe 



The wood is nigh as full of thieves as leaves : 
If both be slain, I am rid of thee ; but yet, 
Sir Scullion, canst thou use that spit of thine? 
Fight, an thou canst : I have miss'd the onlv 
way." 

So till the dusk that followed evensong 
Rode on the two, reviler and reviled ; 
Then after one long slope was mounted, saw, 
Bowl-shaped, thro' tops of many thousand pines 
A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink 
To westward — in the deeps whereof a mere, 
Round as the red eye of an Eagle-owl, 
Under the half-dead sunset glared ; and shouts 
Ascended, and there brake a servingman 
Flying from out of the black wood, and crying, 
" They have bound my lord to cast him in the 

mere." 
Then Gareth, " Bound am I to right the wrong'd, 
But straitlier bound am I to bid with thee." 
And when the damsel spake contemptuously, 
" Lead, and I follow," Gareth cried again, 
" Follow, I lead ! " so down among the pines 
He plunged ; and there, blackshadow'd nigh the 

mere. 
And mid-thigh-deep in bulrushes and reed, 
Saw six tall men haling a seventh along, 
A stone about his neck to drown him in it. 
Three with good blows he quieted, but three 




LYNETTE. 

Fled thro' the pines ; and Gareth loosed 

stone 
From off his neck, then in the mere beside 
Tumbled it ; oilily bubbled up the mere. 
Last, Gareth loosed his bonds and on free feet 
Set him, a stalwart Baron, Arthur's friend. 

" Well that ye came, or else these caitiff rogues 
Had wreak'd themselves on me ; good cause is 

theirs 
To hate me, for my wont hath ever been 
To catch my thief, and then like vermin here 
Drown him, and with a stone about his neck; 
And under this wan water many of them 
Lie rotting, but at night let go the stone,* 
And rise, and flickering in a grimly light 
Dance on the mere. Good now, ye have saved 

a life 
Worth somewhat as the cleanser of this wood. 
And fain would I reward thee worshipfully. 
What guerdon will ye ? " 

Gareth sharply spake, 
" None ! for the deed's sake have I done the 

deed. 
In uttermost obedience to the King. 
But wilt thou yield this damsel harborage?" 

Whereat the Baron saying, " I well believe 
You be of Arthurs Table," a light laugh 







i 






^. 







*/?^) I^''oke from Lynette, " Ay, truly of a truth, 
fl-r And in a sort, being Arthurs kitchen-knave ! — 
But deem not I accept thee aught the more, 
Scullion, for running sharply with thy spit 
Down on a rout of craven foresters. 
A thresher with his flail had scatter'd them. 
. Nay — for thou smellest of the kitchen still. 
?// But an this lord will yield us harborage, 
Well."' 



u 



So she spake. A league beyond the wood. 
All in a full-fair manor and a rich. 
His towers where that day a feast had been 
Held in high hall, and many a viand left, 
And many a costly cate, received the three. 
And there they placed a peacock in his pride 
Before the damsel, and the Baron set 
Gareth beside her, but at once she rose. 



e 



f 



i£i 



•' Meseems, that here is much discourtesy. 
Setting this knave. Lord Baron, at my side. 
Hear me — this morn I stood in Arthur's hall, 
And pray'd the King would grant me Lancelot 
To fight the brotherhood of Day and Night — 
The last a monster unsubduable 
Of any save of him for whom I calPd — 
Suddenly bawls this frontless kitchen-knave, 
'The quest is mine ; thy kitchen-knave am I, 
And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks am L' 




Then Arthur all at once gone mad replies, 
' Go therefore,' and so gives the quest to him — 
Him — here — a villain fitter to stick swine 
Than ride abroad redressing women's wrong, 
Or sit beside a noble gentlewoman." 

Then half-ashamed and part-amazed, the lord 
Now look'd at one and now at other, left 
The damsel by the peacock in his pride, 
And, seating Gareth at another board, 
Sat down beside him, ate and then began. 



I 



"Friend, whether thou be kitchen-knave, or 
not. 
Or whether it be the maiden's fantasy. 
And whether she be mad, or else the King, 
Or both or neither, or thyself be mad, 
I ask not : but thou strikest a strong stroke, 
For strong thou art and goodly therewithal. 
And saver of my life ; and therefore now. 
For here be mighty men to joust with, weigh 
Whether tliou wilt not with thy damsel back 
To crave again Sir Lancelot of the King. 
Thy pardon ; I but speak for thine avail, 
The saver of my life." 




And Gareth said, 
" Full pardon, but I follow up the quest. 
Despite of Day and Night and Death and Hell." 



">;■ 



,^i 



m 










•>o. 



•7 




(I 






So when, next morn, the lord whose Hfe he 

saved 
Had, some brief space, convey'd them on their 

way 
And left them with God-speed, SirGareth spake, 
" Lead, and I follow." Haughtily she replied, 

"1 fly no more : I allow thee for an hour. 
Lion and stoat have isled together, knave, 
In time of flood. Nay, furthermore, methinks 
Some ruth is mine for thee. Back wilt thou, 

fool? 
For hard by here is one will overthrow 
And slay thee : then will I to court again, 
And shame the King for only yielding me 
My champion from the ashes of his hearth." 

To whom Sir Gareth answer'd courteously, 
" Say thou thy say, and I will do my deed. 
Allow me for mine hour, and thou wilt find 
My fortunes all as fair as hers who lay 
Among the ashes and wedded the King's son." 

Then to the shore of one of those long loops 
Wherethro' the serpent river coiPd. they came. 
Rough-thicketed were the banks and steep ; the 

stream 
Full, narrow ; this a bridge of single arc 
Took at a leap ; and on the further side 



.■■n) 




Arose a silk pavilion, gay with gold 

In streaks and rays, and all Lent-liiy in hue, 

Save that the dome was purple, and above, 

Crimson, a slender banneret fluttering. 

And therebefore the lawless warrior paced 

Unarmed, and calling, " Damsel, is this he. 

The champion thou hast brought from Arthur's 

hall? 
For whom we let thee pass." " Nay, nay," she 

said, 
" Sir Morning-Star. The King in utter scorn 
Of thee and thy much folly hath sent thee here 
His kitchen-knave : and look thou to thyself: 
See that he fall not on thee suddenly, 
And slay thee unarm'd : he is not knight but 

knave." 






Then at his call, " O daughters of the Dawn, 
And servants of the Morning-Star, approach. 
Arm me," from out the silken curtain-folds 
Bare-footed and bare-headed three fair girls 
In gilt and rosy raiment came : their feet 
In dewy grasses glisten'd ; and the hair 
All over glanced with dewdrop or with gem 
Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine. 
These arm'd him in blue arms, and gave a shield 
Blue also, and thereon the morning star. 
And Gareth silent gazed upon the knight. 
Who stood a moment, ere his horse was brought, 



I 




Glorying; and in the stream beneath him, shone 
Immingled with Heaven's azure wavenngly, 
The gay pavilion and the naked feet, 
His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star. 

Then she that watch'd him, " Wherefore stare 

ye so ? 
Thou shakest in thy fear : there yet is time : 
Flee down the valley before he get to liorse. 
Who will cry shame? Thou art not knight but 

knave." 



Said Gareth, " Damsel, whether knave or 
knight, 
^ L Far liefer had I fight a score of times 

Than hear thee so missay me and revile. 

Fair words were best for him who fights for thee ; 

But truly foul are better, for they send 

That strength of anger thro' mine arms, I know 

That I shall overthrow him." 



And he that bore 
The star, being mounted, cried from o'er the 

bridge, 
" A kitchen-knave, and sent in scorn of me ! 
Such fight not I, but answer scorn with scorn. 
For this were shame to do him further wrong 
Than set him on his feet, and take his horse 
And arms, and so return him to the King. 




Come, therefore, leave thy lady lightly, knave. 
((^J Avoid : for it beseemeth not a knave 
To ride with such a lady/" 



" Dog, thou liest. 
I spring from loftier lineage than thine own." 
He spake ; and all at fiery speed the two 
Shocked on the central bridge, and either spear 
Bent but not brake, and either knight at once, 
Hurl'd as a stone from out of a catapult 
Beyond his horse's crupper and the bridge. 
Fell, as if dead ; but quickly rose and drew, 
And Gareth lash'd so fiercely with his brand 
He drave his enemy backward down the bridge. 
The damsel crying, " Well-stricken, kitchen- 
knave ! " 
Till Gareth's shield was cloven ; but one stroke 
Laid him that clove it tirovellin^ on the ground. 



Then cried the falPn, "Take not my life: I 
yield." 
And Gareth, " So this damsel ask it of me 
Good — I accord it easily as a grace." 
She reddening, " Insolent scullion : I of thee .'' 
I bound to thee for any favor ask'd ! " 
" Then shall he die." And Gareth there unlaced 
His helmet as to slay him, but she shriek'd, 
" Be not so hardy, scullion, as to slay 
One nobler than thyself." " Damsel, thy charge 



If 





^ >Ot .-oj-O. If 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 






i 



Is 



Is an abounding pleasure to me. Knight, 

Thy life is thine at her command. Arise 

And quickly pass to Arthur's hall, and say 

His kitchen-knave hath sent thee. See thou crave 

His pardon for thy breaking ot his laws. 

Myself, when I return, will plead for thee. 

Thy shield is mine — farewell; and, damsel, 

thou, 
Lead, and I follow." 

And fast away she fled. 
Then when he came upon her, spake, " Me- 

thought. 
Knave, when I watch'd thee striking on the 

bridge 
The savor of thy kitchen came upon me 
A little faintlier : but the wind hath changed : 
I scent it twenty-fold." And then she sang, 
" ' O morning star' (not that tall felon there 
Whom thou by sorcery or unhappiness 
Or some device, hast foully overthrown), 
' O morning star that smilest in the blue, 
O star, my morning dream hath proven true, 
Smile sweetly, thou ! my love hath smiled on me.' 

" But thou begone, take counsel, and away. 
For hard by here is one that guards a ford — 
The second brother in their fool's parable — 
Will pay thee all thy wages, and to boot. 
Care not for shame : thou art not knight but 
knave." 




p 



To whom Sir Gareth answer'd, laughingly, 
" Parables? Hear a parable of the knave. 
When I was kitchen-knave among the rest 
Fierce was the hearth, and one of my co-mates 
Own'd a rough dog. to whom he cast his coat, 
' Guard it." and there was none to meddle with it. 
And such a coat art thou, and thee the King 
Gave me to guard, and such a dog am I, 
To worry, and not to flee — and — knight or 

knave — 
The knave that doth thee service as full knight 
Is all as good, meseems, as any knight 
Toward thy sister's freeing.'" 

"Ay, Sir Knave ! 
Ay, knave, because thou strikest as a knight. 
Being but knave, I hate thee all the more." 

"Fair damsel, you should worship me the 
more, 
That, being but knave, I throw thine enemies." 

" Ay, ay," she said, " but thou shalt meet thy 
match." 

So when they touch'd the second river-loop. 
Huge on a huge red horse, and all in mail 
Burnish'd to blinding, shone the Noonday Sun 
Beyond a raging shallow. As if the flower, 






•cV 



.'/ 



That blows a globe of after arrowlets, 

Ten thousand-fold had grown, flasli'd the fierce 

shield. 
All sun ; and Gareth's eyes had flying blots 
Before them when he turn'd from watching him. 
He from beyond the roaring shallow roar'd, 
"What doest thou, brother, in my marches 

here? " 
And she athwart the shallow shrill'd again, 
" Here is a kitchen-knave from Arthur's hall 
Hath overthrown thy brother, and hath his 

arms." 
" Ugh ! " cried the Sun, and visoring up a red 
And cipher face of rounded foolishness, 
Push'd horse across the foamings of the ford. 
Whom Gareth met midstream : no room was 

there 
For lance or tourney-skill : four strokes they 

struck 
With sword, and these were mighty; the new 

knight 
Had fear he might be shamed ; but as the Sun 
Heaved up a ponderous arm to strike the fifth. 
The hoof of his horse slipt in the stream, the 

stream 
Descended, and the Sun was wash'd away. 



Then Gareth laid his lance athwart the ford ; 
So drew him home ; but he that fought no more, 



^M>::^^S^ 





LYiXETTE. 

As being all bone-batter'd on the rock, 
Yielded ; and Gareth sent him to the King. 
" Myself when I return will plead for thee." 
"Lead, and I follow." Quietly she led. 
" Hath not the good wind, damsel, changed 

again ? " 
" Nay, not a point: nor art thou victor here. 
There lies a ridge of slate across the ford ; 
His horse thereon stumbled — ay, for I saw it. 

" ' O Sun' (not this strong fool whom thou. 
Sir Knave, 
Hast overthrown thro' mere unhappiness), 
' O Sun, that wakenest all to bliss or pain, 
O moon, that layest all to sleep again. 
Shine sweetly : twice my love hath smiled on me.' 

" What knowest thou of lovesong or of love ? 
Nay, nay, God wot, so thou wert nobly born. 
Thou hast a pleasant presence. Yea, per- 
chance, 

" ' O dewy flowers that open to the sun, 
O dewy flowers that close when day is done. 
Blow sweetly : twice my love hath smiled on me.' 



I f:_ 



" What knowest thou of flowers, except, belike, 
To garnish meats with ? hath not our good King 
Who lent me thee, the flower of kitchendom, 




;=;^- 




// 



GAKETH AND LYNETTE. 



69 



A foolish love for flowers ? what stick ye round 
The pasty? wherewitlial deck the boar's head? 
Flowers? nay, the boar hath rosemaries and bay. 

" ' O birds, that warble to the morning sky, 
O birds that warble as the day goes by, 
Sing sweetly : twice my love hath smiled on me.' 

" What knowest thou of birds, lark, mavis, 
merle. 
Linnet? what dream ye when they utter forth 
May-music growing with the growing light. 
Their sweet sun-worship? these be for the snare 
(So runs thy fancy) these be for the spit. 
Larding and basting. See thou have not now 
Larded thy last, except thou turn and fly 
There stands the third fool of their allegory." 

For there beyond a bridge of treble bow, 
All in a rose-red from the west, and all 
Naked it seeni'd, and glowing in the broad 
Deep-dimpled current underneath, the knight. 
That named himself the Star of Evening, stood. 

And Gareth, "Wherefore waits the madman 
there 
Naked in open dayshine?" " Nay,'' she cried, 
" Not naked, only wrapt in harden'd skins 
That fit him like his own ; and so ye cleave 
His armor off him, these will turn the blade." 



'?\ 



2'V 




// 




Then the third brother shouted o'er the bridge, ; , 

" O brother-star, why shine ye here so low? t^Vt 

Thy ward is higher up : but have ye slain { <^ 
The damsePs champion? " and the damsel cried, 



"No star of thine, but shot from Arthur's 
heaven 
With all disaster unto thine and thee ! 
For both thy younger brethren have gone down 
Before this youth ; and so wilt thou. Sir Star ; 
Art thou not old?" 

" Old, damsel, old and hard, 
Old, with the might and breath of twenty boys." 
Said Gareth, " Old, and over-bold in brag! 
But that same strength which threw the Morning 

Star 
Can throw the Evening." 

Then that other blew 
A hard and deadly note upon the horn. 
"Approach and arm me!" With slow steps 

from out 
An old storm-beaten, russet, many-stain'd 
Pavilion, forth a grizzled damsel came. 
And arm'd him in old arms, and brought a helm 
With but a drying evergreen for crest, 
And gave a shield whereon the Star of Even 
Half-tarnish'd and half-bright, his emblem, 

shone. 



c^- 






But when it glittered o'er the saddle-bow, 

They madly hurPd together on the bridge ; 

And Gareth overthrew him, lighted, drew, 

There met him drawn, and overthrew him again. 

But up like fire he started : and as oft 

As Gareth brought him grovelling on his knees, 

So many a time he vaulted up again ; 

Till Gareth panted hard, and his great heart, 

Foredooming all his trouble was in vain, 

Labor'd within him, for he seem'd as one 

That all in later, sadder age begins 

To war against ill uses of a life. 

But these from all his life arise, and cry, 

" Thou hast made us lords, and canst not put us 

down ! " 
He half despairs ; so Gareth seem'd to strike 
Vainly, the damsel clamoring all the while, 
"Well done, knave-knight, well stricken, O 

good knight-knave — 
O knave, as noble as any of all the knights — 
Shame me not, shame me not. I have prophe- 
sied — 
Strike, thou art worthy of the Table Round — 
His arms are old, he trusts the hardened skin — 
Strike — strike — the wind will never change 

again." 
And Gareth hearing ever stronglier smote. 
And hewM great pieces of his armor off him. 
But lash'd in vain against the hardened skin, 









LYNETTE. 



And could not wholly bring him under, more 
Than loud Southwesterns, rolling ridge on ridge. 
The buoy that rides at sea, and dips and springs 
Forever ; till at length Sir Gareth's brand 
Clashed his, and brake it utterly to the hilt. 
" I have thee now ; " but forth that other sprang. 
And, all unknightlike, writhed his wiry arms 
Around him, till he felt, despite his mail. 
Strangled, but straining ev'n his uttermost 
Cast, and so hurl'd him headlong o'er the bridge 
Down to the river, sink or swim, and cried, 
" Lead, and I follow." 

But the damsel said, 
" I lead no longer ; ride thou at my side ; 
Thou art the kingliest of all kitchen-knaves. 

" ' O trefoil, sparkling on the rainy plain, 
O rainbow with three colors after rain, 
Shine sweetly : thrice my love hath smiled on 
me." 

" Sir, — and, good faith, I fain had added — 

Knight, 
But that I heard thee call thyself a knave, — 
Shamed am I that I so rebuked, reviled, 
Missaid thee ; noble I am ; and thought the King 
Scorn'd me and mine ; and now thy pardon, 

friend, 




^^y-^-^ 







y(6). 



d 



For thou hast ever answered courteously, 
And wholly bold thou art, and meek withal 
As any of Arthur's best, but, being knave, 
Hast mazed my wit : I marvel what thou art." 

" Damsel," he said, " you be not all to blame. 
Saving that you mistrusted our good King 
Would handle scorn, or yield you, asking, one 
Not fit to cope your quest. You said your say ; 
Mine answer was my deed. Good sooth ! I hold 
He scarce is knight, yea but half-man, nor meet 
To fight for gentle damsel, he, who lets 
His heart be stirr"d with any foolish heat 
At any gentle damsePs waywardness. 
Shamed.'' care not! thy foul sayings fought for 

me : 
And seeing now thy words are fair, methinks 
There rides no knight, not Lancelot, his great 

self, 
Hath force to quell me." 

Nigh upon that hour 
When the lone hern forgets his melancholy. 
Lets down his other leg, and stretching, dreams 
Of goodly supper in the distant pool. 
Then turn'd the noble damsel smiling at him. 
And told him of a cavern hard at hand. 
Where bread and baken meats and good red wine 
Of Southland, which the Lady Lyonors 
Had sent her coming champion, waited him. 







& 



Anon they past a narrow comb wherein 
Were slabs of rock with figures, knights on horse 
Sculptured, and deckt in slowly-waning hues. 
" Sir Knave, my knight, a hermit once was here, 
Whose holy hand hath fashionM on the rock 
The war of Time against the soul of man. 
And yon four fools have suck'd their allegory 
From these damp walls, and taken but the form. 
Know ye not these ? "' and Gareth lookt and 

read — 
In letters like to those the vexillary 
Hath left crag-carven o'er the streaming Gelt — 
"Phosphorus," then " Meridies " — "Hes- 
perus" — 
" Nox " — " Mors," beneath five figures, armed 

men, 
Slab after slab, their faces forward all. 
And running down the Soul, a Shape that fled 
With broken wings, torn raiment and loose hair. 
For help and shelter to the hermit's cave. 
'; Follow the faces, and we find it. Look, 
Who comes behind ? " 



4 



S; 



For one — delay'd at first 
Thro' helping back the dislocated Kay 
To Camelot, then by what thereafter chanced, 
The damsel's headlong error thro' the wood — 
Sir Lancelot, having swum the river-loops — 
His blue shield-lions cover'd — softly drew 
Behind the twain, and when he saw the star 





m 
/' 



J I 



ST 






Gleam, on Sir Gareth's turning to him, cried. 
" Stay, felon knight, I avenge me for my friend." 
And Gareth crying prick'd against the cry ; 
But when they closed — in a moment — at one 

touch 
Of that skiird spear, the wonder of the world — 
Went sliding down so easily, and fell, 
That when he found the grass within his hands 
He laugh'd ; the laughter jarr'd upon Lynette : 
Harshly she ask'd him, " Shamed and over- 
thrown. 
And tumbled back into the kitchen-knave. 
Why laugh ye ? that ye blew your boast in vain ? " 
" Nay, noble damsel, but that I, the son 
Of old King Lot and good Queen Bellicent, 
And victor of the bridges and the ford, 
And knight of Arthur, here lie thrown by whom 
I know not, all thro' mere unhappiness — 
Device and sorcery and unhappiness — 
Out, sword; we are thrown!" And Lancelot 

answered, " Prince, 
O Gareth — thro' the mere unhappiness 
Of one who came to help thee, not to harm, 
Lancelot, and all as glad to find thee whole. 
As on the day when Arthur knighted him." 



Then Gareth, ' 
hand 
That threw me? 
boast 



Thou — Lancelot I — thine the 



An some chance to mar the 





Thy brethren of thee make — which could not 

chance — 

Had sent thee down before a lesser spear, 
Shamed had I been, and sad — O Lancelot — 

thou ! " 



' Whereat the maiden, petulant, " Lancelot, 
Why came ye not, when calPd? and wherefore 

now 
Come ye, not call'd? I gloried in my knave, 
Who being still rebuked, would answer still 
Courteous as any knight — but now, if knight, 
The marvel dies, and leaves me fooPd and trick 'd. 
And only wondering wherefore play'd upon: 
i i And doubtful whether I and mine be scorn'd. 
Where should be truth if not in Arthur's hall. 
In Arthur's presence? Knight, knave, prince 

and fool, 
I hate thee and forever." 

And Lancelot said, 
" Blessed be thou. Sir Gareth ! knight art tliou 
To the King's best wish. O damsel, be you 

wise 
To call him shamed, who is but overthrown? 
Thrown have I been, nor once, but many a time. 
Victor from vanquish'd issues at the last. 
And overthrower from being overthrown. 
With sword we have not striven ; and thy good 

horse 



^ 




GAKETH AND LYNETTE. 



77 



'(M 



ii. 






And thou are weary ; yet not less I felt 
Thy manhood thro' that wearied lance of thine. 
Well hast thou done; for all the stream is freed, 
And thou hast wreak'd his justice on his foes, 
And when reviled, hast answer'd graciously, 
And makest merry when overthrown. Prince, 

Knight, 
Hail, Knight and Prince, and of our Table 

Round ! " 

And then when turning to Lynette he told 
The tale of Gareth, petulantly she said, 
"Ay well — ay well — for worse than being 

fool'd 
Of others, is to fool one's self. A cave, 
Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and drinks 
And forage for the horse, and flint for fire. 
But all about it flies a honeysuckle. 
Seek, till we find." And when they sought and 

found. 
Sir Gareth drank and ate, and all his life 
Past into sleep ; on whom the maiden gazed. 
"Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to sleep 

hast thou. 
Wake lusty ! Seem I not as tender to him 
As any mother? Ay, but such a one 
As all day long hath rated at her child, 
And vext his day, but blesses him asleep — 
Good lord, how sweetly smells the honeysuckle 





In the hush'd night, as if the world were one 

Of utter peace, and love, and gentleness ! 

O Lancelot, Lancelot " — and she clapt her 

hands — 

" Full merry am I to find my goodly knave 
Is knight and noble. See now, sworn have I, 
Else yon black felon had not let me pass. 
To bring thee back to do the battle with him. 
Thus an thou goest, he will fight thee first ; 
Who doubts thee victor? so will my knight- 
knave 
Miss the full flower of this accomplishment."' 






J j Said Lancelot, " Peradventure he, you name. 

May know my shield. Let Gareth, an he will. 
Change his for mine, and take my charger, fresh, 
Not to be spurred, loving the battle as well 
As he that rides him." " Lancelot-like." she 

said, 
" Courteous in this. Lord Lancelot, as in all." 



\ '■] 



And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutch'd the 

shield ; 
" Ramp ye lance-splintering lions, on whom all 

spears 
Are rotten sticks ! ye seem agape to roar ! 
Yea, ramp and roar at leaving of your lord ! — 
Care not, good beasts, so well I care for you. 
O noble Lancelot, from my hold on these 



!?. 







i\ 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 



79 



Streams virtue — fire — thro' one that will not 

shame 
Even the shadow of Lancelot under shield. 
Hence : let us go." 

Silent the silent field 
They traversed. Arthur's harp tho' summer- 
wan. 
In counter motion to the clouds, allured 
The glance of Gareth dreaming on his liege. 
A star shot: " Lo," said Gareth, "the foe 

falls ! " 
An owl whoopt : "Hark the victor pealing 

there ! "" 
Suddenly she that rode upon his left 
Clung to the shield that Lancelot lent him, 

crying, 
" Yield, yield him this again : 'tis he must fight : 
I curse the tongue that all thro' yesterday 
Reviled thee, and hath wrought on Lancelot now 
To lend thee horse and shield : wonders ye have 

done ; 
Miracles ye cannot : here is glory enow 
In having flung the three : I see thee maim'd. 
Mangled : I swear thou canst not fling the 
fourth." 

"And wherefore, damsel? tell me all ye know. 
You cannot scare me ; nor rough face, or voice, 
Brute bulk of limb, or boundless savagery 
Appall me from the quest." 




s 



" Nay, Prince,'" she cried, 
" God wot, I never look'd upon the face. 
Seeing he never rides abroad by day : 
But watch'd him have I like a phantom pass 
Chilling the night : nor have I heard the voice. 
Always he made his mouthpiece of a page 
Who came and went, and still reported him 
As closing in himself the strength of ten, 
And when his anger tare him, massacring 
Man, woman, lad and girl — yea, the soft babe ! 
Some hold that he hath swallow'd infant flesh. 
Monster! O Prince, I went for Lancelot first. 
The quest is Lancelot's : give him back the 
shield." 

Said Gareth laughing, " An he fight for this. 
Belike he wins it as the better man : 
Thus — and not else ! " 

But Lancelot on him urged 
All the devisings of tlieir chivalry 
When one might meet a mightier than himself; 
How best to manage horse, lance, sword and 

shield. 
And so fill up the gap where force might fail 
With skill and fineness. Instant were his 

words. 

Then Gareth, " Here be rules. I know but 
one — 
To dash against mine enemy and to win. 





GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Yet have I watch'd thee victor in the joust, 
And seen thy way." " Heaven help thee,"' sigh'd 
Lynette. 

Then for a space, and under cloud that grew 
To thunder-gloom palling all stars, they rode 
In converse till she made her palfrey halt. 
Lifted an arm, and softly whisper'd, " There." 
And all the three were silent seeing, pitch'd 
Beside the Castle Perilous on flat field, 
A huge pavilion like a mountain peak 
Sunder the glooming crimson on the marge, 
Black, with black banner, and a long black horn 
Beside it hanging ; which Sir Gareth graspt, 
And so, before the two could hinder him. 
Sent all his heart and breath thro' all the horn. 
Echoed the walls ; a light twinkled ; anon 
Came lights and lights, and once again he blew; 
Whereon were hollow tramplings up and down 
And muffled voices heard, and shadows past ; 
Till high above him, circled with her maids," 
The Lady Lyonors at a window stood, 
Beautiful among lights, and waving to him 
White hands, and courtesy ; but when the Prince 
Three times had blown — after long hush — at 

last — 
The huge pavilion slowly yielded up. 
Thro' those black foldings, that which housed 
therein. 



!>r^^> 





High on a nightblack horse, in nightblack arms, 

With white breast-bone, and barren ribs of 
Death, 

And crown'd with fleshless laugliter — some ten 
steps — 

In the half-light — thro* the dim dawn — ad- 
vanced 

The monster, and then paused, and spake no 
word . 

But Gareth spake and all indignantly, 
"Fool, for thou hast, men say, the strength of 

ten, 
Canst thou not trust the limbs thy God hath 

given. 
But must, to make the terror of thee more. 
Trick thyself out in ghastly imageries 
Of that which Life hath done with, and the clod. 
Less dull than thou, will hide with mantling 

flowers 
As if for pity ? " But he spake no word ; 
Which set the horror higher : a maiden swoon"d ; 
Tlie Lady Lyonors wrung her hands and wept. 
As doom'd to be the bride of Night and Death ; 
Sir Gareth's head prickled beneath his helm ; 
And ev'n Sir Lancelot thro' his warm blood felt 
Ice strike, and all that mark'd him were aghast. 

At once Sir Lancelot's charger fiercely neigh'd. 
And Death's dark war-horse bounded forward 
with him. 



J 







Then those that did not blink the terror, saw- 
That Death was cast to ground, and slowly rose. 
But with one stroke Sir Caret h split the skull. 
Half fell to right and half to left and lay. 
Then with a stronger buffet he clove the helm 
As thoroughly as the skull ; and out from this 
Issued the bright face of a blooming boy 
Fresh as a flower new-born, and cryinor, 

" Knight, 
Slay me not : my three brethren bade me do it, 
To make a horror all about the house, 
And stay the world from Lady Lyonors. 
They never dream'd the passes would be past." 
Answered Sir Gareth graciously to one 
Not many a moon his younger, " My fair child. 
What madness made thee challenge the chief 

knight 
Of Arthur's hall? " " Fair Sir, they bade me do 

it. 
They hate the King, and Lancelot, the King's 

friend. 
They hoped to slay him somewhere on the 

stream , 
They never dream'd the passes could be past." 

Then sprang the happier day from under- 
ground ; 
And Lady Lyonors and her house, with dance 
And revel and song, made merry over Death, 



I 





The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court, 

A tributary prince of Devon, one 

Of that great Order of the Table Round, 

Had married Enid, Yniol's only child, 

And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven. 

And as the light of Heaven varies, now 

At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night 

With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint 

To make her beauty vary day by day, 

In crimsons and in purples and in gems. 

And Enid, but to please her husband's eye. 

Who first had found and loved her in a state 

Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him 

In some fresh splendor ; and the Queen herself. 

Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done, 

Loved her, and often with her own white hands 

ArrayVl and deck'd her, as the loveliest. 

Next after her own self, in all the court. 

And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart 

Adored her, as the stateliest and the best 

And loveliest of all women upon earth. 



1 ::^ 



t^Lt 



^MiS^^^ 




A 



EiYTD. 

And seeing them so tender and so close, 

Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint. 

But when a rumor rose about the Queen, 

Touching her guilty love for Lancelot, 

Tho' yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard 

The world''s loud whisper breaking into storm. 

Not less Geraint believed it ; and there fell 

A horror on him, lest his gentle wife. 

Thro' that great tenderness for Guinevere, 

Had sufter'd, or should sufter any taint 

In nature : wherefore going to the King, 

He made this pretext, that his princedom lay 

Close on the borders of a territory. 

Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights. 

Assassins, and all flyers from the hand 

Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law : 

And therefore, till the King himself should please 

To cleanse this common sewer of all his realm. 

He craved a fair permission to depart, 

And there defend his marches ; and the King 

Mused for a little on his plea, but, last. 

Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode. 

And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores 

Of Severn, and they past to their own land ; 

Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wife 

True to her^ord, mine shall be so to me. 

He compass'd her with sweet observances 

And worship, never leaving her, and grew 

Forgetful of his promise to the King, 



■.:c!)- 






Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, 
Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, 
Forgetful of his glory and his name. 
Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. 
And this forgetfulness was hateful to her. 
And by and by the people, when they met 
In twos and threes, or fuller companies, 
Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him 
As of a prince whose manhood was all gone, 
And molten down in mere uxoriousness. 
And this she gather'd from the people's eyes : 
This too the women who attired her head, 
To please her, dwelling on his boundless love. 
Told Enid, and they sadden'd her the more : 
And day by day she thought to tell Geraint, 
But could not out of bashful delicacy ; 
While he that watch'd her sadden, was the more 
Suspicious that her nature had a taint. 



f 



At last, it chanced that on a summer morn 
(They sleeping each by either) the new sun 
Beat thro' the blindless casement of the room 
And heated the strong warrior in his dreams ; 
Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside, 
And bared the knotted column of his throat. 
The massive square of his heroic breast. 
And arms on which the standing muscle sloped 
As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone. 
Running too vehemently to break upon it. 





And Enid woke and sat beside the couch, 
Admiring him, and thought within herself. 
Was ever man so grandly made as he? 
Then, like a shadow, past the people's talk 
And accusation of uxoriousness 
Across her mind, and bowing over him, 
Low to her own heart piteously she said : 

" O noble breast and all-puissant arms, 
Am I the cause, I the poor cause that men 
Reproach you, saying all your force is gone? 
I a»i the cause, because 1 dare not speak 
And tell him wliat I think and what they say. 
And yet I hate that he should linger here ; 
I cannot love my lord and not his name. 
Far liefer had I gird his harness on him, 
And ride with him to battle and stand by. 
And watch his mightful hand striking great blows 
At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world. 
Far better were I laid in the dark earth. 
Not hearing any more his noble voice, 
Not to be folded more in these dear arms, 
And darkened from the high light in his eyes, 
Than that my lord thro' me should suffer shame. 
Am I so bold, and could I so stand by, 
And see my dear lord wounded in the strife. 
Or maybe pierced to death before mine eyes. 
And yet not dare to tell him what 1 think. 
And how men slur him, saying all his force 





1 



I 



'C- 






u 



Is melted into mere effeminacy? 
O me, I fear that I am no true wife. 



Half inwardly, half audibly she spoke, 
And the strong passion in her made her weep 
True tears upon his broad and naked breast, 
And these awoke him, and by great mischance 
He heard but fragments of her later words. 
And that she fear'd she was not a true wife. 
And then he thought, " In spite of all my care, 
For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains. 
She is not faithful to me, and I see her 
Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur's hall." 
Then tho' he loved and reverenced her too much 
To dream she could be guilty of foul act. 
Right thro' his manful breast darted the pang 
That makes a man, in the sweet face of her 
Whom he loves most, lonely and miserable. 
At this he hurl'd his huge limbs out of bed, 
And shook his drowsy squire awake and cried, 
" My charger and her palfrey ;" then to her, 
" I will ride forth into the wilderness ; 
For tho' it seems my spurs are yet to win, 
I have not fall'n so low as some would wish. 
And thou, put on thy worst and meanest dress 
And ride with me." And Enid ask'd, amazed, 
" If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault." 
But he, " I charge thee, ask not, but obey." 
Then she bethought her of a faded silk. 




A faded mantle and a faded veil. 

And moving toward a cedarn cabinet, 

Wherein she kept them folded reverently 

With sprigs of summer laid between the folds, 

She took them, and array'd herself therein. 

Remembering when first he came on her 

Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it. 

And all her foolish fears about the dress, 

And all his journey to her, as himself 

Had told her, and their coming to the court. 



For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before 
Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk. 
There on a day, he sitting high in hall, 
Before him came a forester of Dean, 
Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart 
Taller than all his fellows, milky-white. 
First seen that day : these things he told the 

King. 
Then the good King gave order to let blow 
His horns for hunting on the morrow morn. 
And when the Queen petitioned for his leave 
To see the hunt, allow'd it easily. 
So with the morning all the court were gone. 
But Guinevere lay late into the morn, 
Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love 
For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt ; 
But rose at last, a single maiden with her, 
Took horse, and forded Usk, and gain"d the 

wood ; 



i\ 





m 



I 



There, on a little knoll beside it, stay'd 
Waiting to hear the hounds ; but heard instead 
A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint, 
Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress 
Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand, 
Came quickly flashing thro' the shallow ford 
Behind them, and so gallop'd up the knoll. 
A purple scarf, at either end whereof 
There swuaig an apple of the purest gold, 
Sway'd round about him, as he gallop'd up 
To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly 
In summer suit and silks of holiday. 
Low bow'd the tributary Prince, and she, 
Sweetly and statelily, and with all grace 
Of womanhood and queenhood, answered him : 
" Late, late. Sir Prince," she said, " later than 

we ! " 
" Yea, noble Queen," he answer'd, " and so late 
That I but come like you to see the hunt, 
Not join it." "Therefore wait with me," she 

said ; 
" For on this little knoll, if anywhere, 
There is good chance that we shall hear the 

hounds : 
Here often they break covert at our feet." 



And while they listened for the distant hunt, 
And chiefly for the baying of Cavall, 
King Arthur's hound of deepest mouth, there 
rode 



^^::^^::^S^ 



Full slowly by a knight, lady, and dwarf ; 

'd latest, and the knight 
Had visor up, and show'd a youthful face. 
Imperious, and of haughtiest lineaments. 
And Guinevere, not mindful of his face 
In the King's hall, desired his name, and sent 
Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf ; 
Who being vicious, old and irritable. 
And doubling all his master's vice of pride. 
Made answer sharply that she should not know. 
" Then will I ask it of himself," she said. 
" Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not," cried the 

dwarf ; 
" Thou art not worthy ev'n to speak of him ; " 
And when she put her horse toward the knight, 
Struck at her with his whip, and she return'd 
Indignant to the Queen ; whereat Geraint 
Ex'claiming, " Surely I will learn the name," 
Made sharply to the dwarf, and ask'd it of him. 
Who answer^ as before ; and when the Prince 
Had put his horse in motion toward the knight, 
Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek. 
The Prince's blood spurted upon the scarf. 
Dyeing it ; and his quick, instinctive hand 
Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him : 
But he, from his exceeding manfulness 
And pure nobility of temperament. 
Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrain'd 
From ev'n a word, and so returning said : 







i 



m 




^^&s 









•:c»- 






GERATNT AND ENID. 



93 



" I will avenge this insult, noble Queen, 
Done in your maiden's person to yourself : 
And I will track this vermin to their earths : 
For tho' I ride unarmed, I do not doubt 
To find, at some place I shall come at, arms 
On loan, or else for pledge ; and, being found, 
Then will I fight him, and will break his pride, 
And on the third day will again be here. 
So that I be not falPn in fight. Farewell." 

"Farewell, fair Prince," answered the stately 
Queen. 
" Be prosperous in this journey, as in all ; 
And may you light on all things that you love, 
And live to wed with her whom first you love : 
But ere you wed with any, bring your bride, 
And I, were she the daughter of a king, 
Yea, tho' she were a beggar from the hedge, 
Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun." 



And Prince Geraint, now thinking that he 
heard 
The noble hart at bay, now the far horn, 
A little vext at losing of the hunt, 
A little at the vile occasion, rode. 
By ups and downs, thro' many a grassy glade 
And valley, with fixt eye following the three. 
At last they issued from the world of wood, 
And climb'd upon a fair and even ridge, 



\ 



GERAINT AND ENID. 



And show'd themselves against the sky, and sank. 

And thither came Geraint, and underneath 

Beheld the long street of a little town 

In a long valley, on one side whereof. 

White from the mason's hand, a fortress rose ; 

And on one side a castle in decay. 

Beyond a bridge that spanned a dry ravine : 

And out of town and valley came a noise 

As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed 

Brawling, or like a clamor of the rooks 

At distance, ere they settle for the night. 



t 



And onward to the fortress rode the three, 
i j And entered, and were lost behind the walls. 
~ " So," thought Geraint, " I have tracked him to 
his earth." 
And down the long street riding wearily, 
Found every hostel full, and everywhere 
Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss 
And bustling whistle of the youth who scour'd 
His master's armor ; and of such a one 
He ask'd, " What means the tumult in the town ? " 
Who told him, scouring still, "The sparrow- 
hawk ! " 
Then riding close behind an ancient churl, 
Who, smitten by the dusty sloping beam, 
Went sweating underneath a sack of corn, 
Ask'd yet once more what meant the hubbub 
here? 



SI 



s 




-•i /> 







Who answer'd gruffly, " Ugh ! the sparrow- 
hawk." 
Then riding further past an armorer's, 
Who, withbaclc turn'd, and bow'd above his work, 
Sat riveting a hehnet on his knee. 
He put the self-same query, but the man 
Not turning round, nor looking at him, said : 
" Friend, he that labors for the sparrow-hawk 
Has little time for idle questioners." 
Whereat Geraint flash'd into sudden spleen : 
" A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk ! 
Tits, wrens, and all wing'd nothings peck him 
dead ! 
J j Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg 

The murmur of the world ! What is it to me.^ 
O wretched set of sparrows, one and all, 
Who pipe of nothing but of sparrow-hawks ! 
Speak, if ye be not like the rest, hawk-mad. 
Where can I get me harborage for the night? 
And arms, arms, a^ms to fight my enemy? 

Speak ! " 
Whereat the armorer turning all amazed 
And seeing one so gay in purple silks, 
Came forward with the helmet yet in hand 
And answer'd, " Pardon me, O stranger knight ; 
We hold a tourney here to-morrow morn, 
And there is scantly time for half the work. 
Arms? truth ! I know not : all are wanted here. 
Harborage? truth, good truth, I know not, save, 





It may be, at Earl YnioPs, o'er the bridge 
Yonder." He spoke and fell to work again. 

Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet, 
Across the bridge that spanned the dry ravine. 
There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl, 
(His dress a suit of fray'd magnificence. 
Once fit for feasts of ceremony) and said : 
'• Whither, fair son? " to whom Geraint replied, 
" O friend, I seek a harborage for the night." 
Then Yniol, " Enter therefore and partake 
The slender entertainment of a house 
Once rich, now poor, but ever open-door'd." 
" Thanks, venerable friend," replied Geraint; 
" So that ye do not serve me sparrow-hawks 
For supper, I will enter, I will eat 
With all the passion of a twelve hours' fast." 
Then sigh'd and smiled the hoary-headed Earl, 
And answer'd, " Graver cause than yours is mine 
To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparrow-hawk : 
But in, go in ; for save yourself desire it. 
We will not touch upon him ev'n in jest." 

Then rode Geraint into the castle court, 
His charger trampling many a prickly star 
Of sprouted thistle on the broken stones. 
He look'd and saw that all was ruinous. 
Here stood a shatter"d archway plumed with fern ; 
And here had fall'n a great part of a tower, 








Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff. 
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers : 
And high above a piece of turret stair, 
Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound 
Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems 
Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms. 
And suck'd the joining of the stones, and look'd 
A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove. 



// 



If 






And while he waited in the castle court, 
The voice of Enid, YnioPs daughter, rang 
Clear thro' the open casement of the hall. 
Singing ; and as the sweet voice of a bird, 
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle, 
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is 
That sings so delicately clear, and make 
Conjecture of the plumage and the form ; 
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint ; 
And made him like a man abroad at morn 
When first the liquid note beloved of men 
Comes flying over many a windy wave 
To Britain, and in April suddenly 
Breaks from a coppice gemm'd with green and 

red. 
And he suspends his converse with a friend. 
Or it may be the labor of his hands, 
To think or say, " There is the nightingale ; " 
So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said, 
" Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me." 





It chanced the song that Enid sang was one 
Of Fortune and her wheel, and Enid sang: 

" Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the 

proud ; 
Turn thy wild wheel thro* sunshine, storm, and 

cloud ; 
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. 

" Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or 
frown ; 
With that wild wheel we go not up or down ; 
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. 

" Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands : 
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands ; 
For man is man and master of his fate. 

" Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring 
crowd ; 
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud ; 
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate." 



" Hark, by the bird's song ye may learn the 
nest," 
^J Said Yniol : "enter quickly." Entering then. 
Right o'er a mount of newly-fallen stones. 
The dusky-rafter'd many-cobweb'd hall, 
He found an ancient dame in dim brocade ; 




s^^Tiirz-, 






ENID. 



And near her, like a blossom vermeil-white. 
That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath. 
Moved the fair Enid, all in faded silk. 
Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint. 
" Here by God's rood is the one maid for me." 
But none spake word except the hoary Earl : 
" Enid, the good knight's horse stands in the 

court ; 
Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then 
Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine ; 
And we will make us merry as we may. 
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great."' 



o / He spake : the Prince, as Enid past him, fain 

To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught 
His purple scarf, and held, and said, " Forbear ! 
Rest ! the good house, tho' ruin'd, O my son. 
Endures not that her guest should serve him- 
self." 
And reverencing the custom of the house 
Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore. 

So Enid took his charger to the stall ; 
And after went her way across the bridge, '] 

And reach'd the town, and while the Prince and 1. 
Earl \, 

Yet spoke together, came again with one, 
A youth, that following with a costrel bore 
The means of goodly welcome, flesh and wine. 





t 






Enid brought sweet cakes to make them 

cheer, 
And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread. 
And then, because their hall must also serve 
For kitchen, boil'd the flesh, and spread the 

board, 
And stood behind, and waited on the three. 
And seeing her so sweet and serviceable, 
Geraint had longing in him evermore 
To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb. 
That crost the trencher as she laid it down : 
But after all had eaten, then Geraint, 
For now the wine made summer in his veins, 
Let his eye rove in following, or rest 
On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work. 
Now here, now there, about the dusky hall ; 
Then suddenly addrest the hoarv Earl : 



II 



" Fair host and Earl, I pray your courtesy; 
This sparrow-hawk, what is he? tell me of him. 
His name? but no, good faith, I will not have it : 
For if he be the knight whom late I saw 
Ride into that new fortress by your town, 
White from the mason's hand, then have I sworn 
From his own lips to have it — I am Geraint 
Of Devon — for this morning when the Queen 
Sent her own maiden to demand the name. 
His dwarf, a vicious under-shapen thing. 
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned 





Indignant to the Queen ; and then I swore 
That I would track this caitiff to his hold, 
And fight and break his pride, and have it of him. 
And all unarmed I rode, and thought to find 
Arms in your town, where all the men are mad ; 
They take the rustic murmur of their bourg 
For the great wave that echoes round the world ; 
They would not hear me speak : but if ye know 
Where I can light on arms, or if yourself 
Should have them, tell me, seeing I have sworn 
That I will break his pride and learn his name. 
Avenging this great insult done the Queen." 

Then cried Earl Yniol, " Art thou he indeed, 
Geraint, a name far-sounded among men 
For noble deeds.'' and truly I, when first 
I saw you moving by me on the bridge. 
Felt ye were somewhat, yea, and by your state 
And presence might have guess'd you one of 

those 
That eat in Arthur's hall at Camelot. 
Nor speak I now from foolish flattery ; 
For this dear child hath often heard me praise 
Your feats of arms, and often when I paused 
Hath ask'd again, and ever loved to hear ; 
So grateful is the noise of noble deeds 
To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong : 
O never yet had woman such a pair 
Of suitors as this maiden ; first Limours, 






A creature wholly given to brawls and wine, 
Drunk even when he woo'd ; and be he dead 
I know not, but he past to the wild land. 
The second was your foe, the sparrow-hawk, 
My curse, my nephew — I will not let his name 
Slip from my lips if I can help it — he. 
When I that knew him fierce and turbulent 
Refused her to him, then his pride awoke ; 
And since the proud man often is the mean. 
He sow'd a slander in the common ear, 
Affirming that his father left him gold. 
And in my charge, which was not rendered to 

him ; 
Bribed with large promises the men who served 
About my person, the more easily 
Because my means were somewhat broken into 
Thro' open doors and hospitality ; 
Raised my own town against me in the night 
Before my Enid's birthday, sack'd my house ; 
From mine own earldom foully ousted me ; 
Built that new fort to overawe my friends, 
For truly there are those who love me yet ; 
And keeps me in this ruinous castle here. 
Where doubtless he would put me soon to death, 
But that his pride too much despises me : 
And I myself sometimes despise myself; 
For I have let men be, and have their way ; 
Am much too gentle, have not used my power : 
Nor know I whether I be very base 



;.„u,P 




••:c)- 






Or very manful, whether very wise 
Or very foolish ; only this I know, 
That whatsoever evil happen to me, 
I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb, 
But can endure it all most patiently." 

" Well said, true heart,"' replied Geraint, " but 
arms, 
That if the sparrow-hawk, this nephew, fight 
In next day's tourney I may break his pride." 

And Yniol answer'd, " Arms, indeed, but old 
And rusty, old and rusty. Prince Geraint, 
Are mine, and therefore at thine asking, thine. 
But in this tournament can no man tilt. 
Except the lady he loves best be there. 
Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground, 
And over these is placed a silver wand. 
And over that a golden sparrow-hawk. 
The prize of beauty for the fairest there. 
And this, what knight soever be in field 
Lays claim to for the liady at his side, 
And tilts with my good nephew thereupon, 
Who being apt at arms and big of bone 
Has ever won it for the lady with him. 
And toppling over all antagonism 
Has earn'd himself the name of sparrow-hawk. 
But thou, that hast no lady, canst not fight." 



<^^ 





To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied, 
Leaning a little toward him, " Thy leave! 
Let ))ie lay lance in rest, O noble host, 
For this dear child, because I never saw, 
Tho" having seen all beauties of our time, 
Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair. 
And if I fall her name will yet remain 
Untarnished as before ; but if I live. 
So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost, 
As I will make her truly my true wife." 




Then, howsoever patient, Yniol's heart 
Danced in his bosom, seeing better days. 
And looking round he saw not Enid there, 
(Who hearing her own name had stoPn away) 
But that old dame, to whom full tenderly 
And fondling all her hand in his he said, 
" Mother, a maiden is a tender thing. 
And best by her that bore her understood. 
Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest 
Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince." 

So spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she 
With frequent smile and nod departing found, 
Half-disarray'd as to her rest, the girl ; 
Whom first she kiss'd on eithar cheek, and then 
On either shining shoulder laid a hand. 
And kept her off and gazed upon her face, 
And told her all their converse in the hall, 




'-^ 







GERAINT AND ENID. 



105 






Proving her heart : but never Hght and shade 
Coursed one another more on open ground 
Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale 
Across the face of Enid hearing her ; 
While slowly falling as a scale that falls. 
When weight is added only grain by grain, 
Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast ; 
Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word, 
Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it ; 
So moving without answer to her rest 
She found no rest, and ever fail'd to draw 
The quiet night into her blood, but lay 
Contemplating her own unworthiness ; 
And when the pale and bloodless east began 
To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised 
Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved 
Down to the meadow where the jousts were held. 
And waited there for Yniol and Geraint. 

And thither came the twain, and when Geraint 
Beheld her first in field, awaiting him. 
He felt, were she the prize of bodily force. 
Himself beyond the rest pushing could move 
The chair of Idris. Yniol's rusted arms 
Were on his princely person, but thro' these 
Princelike his bearing shone ; and errant knights 
And ladies came, and by and by the town 
Flow'd in, and settling circled all the lists. 
And there they fixt the forks into the ground, 



(J*— 



1 06 GERAINT AND ENID. 



'^ 



■O; 



And over these they placed the silver wand, 
And over that the golden sparrow-hawk. 
Then YnioPs nephew, after trumpet blown, 
Spake to the lady with him and proclaim'd, 
"Advance and take as fairest of the fair, 
For I these two years past have won it for thee. 
The prize of beauty." Loudly spake the Prince, 
" Forbear: there is a worthier,"' and the knight 
With some surprise and thrice as much disdain 
Turn'd, and beheld the four, and all his face 
Glow'd like the heart of a great fire at Yule, 
So burnt he was with passion, crying out, 
" Do battle for it then," no more ; and thrice 
They clash'd together, and thrice they brake their 

spears. 
Then each, dishorsed and drawing, lash"d at each 
So often and with such blows, that all the crowd 
Wonder'd, and now and then from distant walls 
There came a clapping as of phantom hands. 
So twice they fought, and twice they breathed, 

and still 
The dew of their great labor, and the blood 
Of their strong bodies, flowing, drained their 

force. 
But either's force was match'd till Yniors cry, 
" Remember that great insult done the Queen," 
Increased Geraint's, who heaved his blade aloft, 
And crack'd the helmet thro\ and bit the bone, 
And feird him, and set foot upon his breast, 



51 




^^:^r> 




i, 



J I 



And said, " Thy name? "" To whom the fallen 

man 
Made answer, groaning, " Edyrn, son of Nudd ! 
Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee. 
Mv pride is broken : men have seen my fall." 
'• Then, Edyrn, son of Nudd," replied Geraint, 
'• These two things shalt thou do. or else thou 

diest. 
First, thou thyself, with damsel and with dwarf, 
Shalt ride to Arthur's court, and coming there. 
Crave pardon for that insult done the Queen, 
And shalt abide her judgment on it ; next, 
Thou shalt give back their earldom to thy kin. 
These two things shalt thou do, or thou shalt 

die." 
And Edvrn answerd, " These things will I do. 
For I have never yet been overthrown. 
And thou hast overthrown me, and my pride 
Is broken down, for Enid sees my fall ! " 
And rising up, he rode to Arthur's court, 
And there the Queen forgave him easily. 
And being young, he changed and came to loathe 
His crime of traitor, slowly drew himself 
Bright from his old dark life, and fell at last 
In the great battle fighting for the King. 



But when the third day from the hunting-morn 
Made a low splendor in the world, and wings 
Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay 



io8 G ERA INT AND ENID. 




With her fair head in the dim-yellow light. 

Among the dancing shadows of the birds, 

Woke and bethought her of her promise given 

No later than last eve to Prince Geraint — , 

So bent he seem'd on going the third day. 

He would not leave her, till her promise given — 

To ride with him this morning to the court. 

And there be made known to the stately Queen, 

And there be wedded with all ceremony. 

At this she cast her eyes upon her dress, 

And thought it never yet had look'd so mean. 

For as a leaf in mid-November is 

To what it was in mid -October, seem'd 

The dress that now she looked on to the dress 

She look'd on ere the coming of Geraint. 

And still she look'd, and still the terror grew 

Of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court, 

All staring at her in her faded silk : 

And softly to her own sweet heart she said : 

" This noble prince who won our earldom back, 
So splendid in his acts and his attire. 
Sweet heaven, how much I shall discredit him! 
Would he could tarry with us here awhile, 
But being so beholden to the Prince, 
It were but little grace in any of us. 
Bent as he seem'd on going this third day, 
To seek a second favor at his hands. 
Yet if he could but tarry a day or two. 




G ERA INT AND ENID. 



109 



^1 



■.:c!!. 



i 



i\ 



Myself would work eye dim, and finger lame, 
Far liefer than so much discredit him." 

And Enid fell in longing for a dress 
All branch'd and flower'd with gold, a costly gift 
Of her good mother, given her on the night 
Before her birthday, three sad years ago. 
That night of fire, when Edyrn sack'd their 

house. 
And scatterd all they had to all the winds : 
For while the mother show'd it, and the two 
Were turning and admiring it, the work 
To both appeared so costly, rose a cry 
That Edyrn's men were on them, and they fled 
With little save the jewels they had on. 
Which being sold and sold had bought them 

bread : 
And Edyrn's men had caught them in their flight, 
And placed them in this ruin ; and she wish'd 
The Prince had found her in her ancient home ; 
Then let her fancy flit across the past. 
And roam the goodly places that she knew ; 
And last bethought her how she used to watch. 
Near that old home, a pool of golden carp ; 
And one was patch'd and blurr'd and lustreless 
Among his burnish'd brethren of the pool ; 
And half asleep she made comparison 
Of that and these to her own faded self 
And the gay court, and fell asleep again; 




-« •••••• • - ~~- >-^ *» --vf i> • V 



GERAINT AND ENID. 



,0\ 



And dreamt herself was such a faded form 

Among her burnish'd sisters of the pool ; 

But this was in the garden of a king ; 

And tho' she lay dark in the pool, she knew 

That all was bright ; that all about were birds 

Of sunny plume in gilded trellis-work ; 

That all the turf was rich in plots that look'd 

Each like a garnet or a turkis in it ; 

And lords and ladies of the high court went 

In silver tissue talking things of state ; 

And children of the King in cloth of gold 

Glanced at the doors or gambol'd down the 

walks ; 
And while she thought " They will not see me,' 

came 
A stately queen whose name was Guinevere, 
And all the children in their cloth of gold 
Ran to her, crying, " If we have fish at all 
Let them be gold ; and charge the gardeners 

now 
To pick the faded creature from the pool, 
And cast it on the mixen that it die." 
And therewithal one came and seized on her, 
And Enid started waking, with her heart 
All overshadowed by the foolish dream, 
And lo ! it was her mother grasping her 
To get her well awake ; and in her hand 
A suit of bright apparel, which she laid 
Flat on the couch, and spoke exultingly: 



I 






" See here, my child. 
look, 
How fast they hold like colors of a shell 
That keeps the wear and polish of the wave. 
Why not? It never yet was worn. I trow : 
Look on it, child, and tell me if ye know it." 

And Enid look'd, but all confused at iirst. 
Could scarce divide it from her foolish dream : 
Then suddenly she knew it and rejoiced, 
And answerd, "Yea, I know it; your good 

gift, 
So sadly lost on that unhappy night ; 
Your own good gift ! " " Yea, surely," said the 

dame, 
" And gladly given again this happy morn. 
For when the jousts were ended yesterday, 
Went Yniol thro' the town, and everywhere 
He found the sack and plunder of our house 
All scattered thro' the houses of the town ; 
And gave command that all which once was 

ours 
Should now be ours again : and yester-eve. 
While ye were talking sweetly with your Prince, 
Came one with this and laid it in my hand, 
For love or fear, or seeking favor of us. 
Because we have our earldom back again. 
.•\nd yester-eve I would not tell you of it. 
But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn. 



^ 







Yea, truly is it not a sweet surprise? 
For I myself unwillingly have worn 
My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours, 
And howsoever patient, Yniol his. 
Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house, 
With store of rich apparel, sumptuous fare. 
And page, and maid, and squire, and seneschal, 
And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all 
That appertains to noble maintenance. 
Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house ; 
But since our fortune swerved from sun to shade. 
And all thro'' that young traitor, cruel need 
Constrain'd us, but a better time has come ; 
So clothe yourself in this, that better fits 
\^& Our mended fortunes and a Prince''s bride : 
^L For tho' ye won the prize of fairest fair, 
/' And tho' I heard him call you fairest fair, 
Let never maiden think, however fair. 
She is not fairer in new clothes than old. 
And should some great court-lady say, the Prince 
Hath pick'd a ragged-robin from the hedge. 
And like a madman brought her to the court, 
Then were ye shamed, and, worse, might shame 

the Prince 
To whom we are beholden ; but I know. 
When my dear child is set forth at her best, 
That neither court nor country, tho' they sought 
Thro' all the provinces like those of old 
f;.%^;j! That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match." 



,0^ 




q 



r 



I 



Here ceased the kindly mother out of breath ; 
And Enid listened brightening as she lay ; 
Then, as the white and glittering star of morn 
Parts from a bank of snow, and by and by 
Slips into golden cloud, the maiden rose, 
And left her maiden couch, and robed herself, 
Help'd by the mother's careful hand and eye, 
Without a mirror, in the gorgeous gown ; 
Who, after, turn'd her daughter round, and said, 
She never yet had seen her. half so fair ; 
And calPd her like that maiden in the tale. 
Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers, 
And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaun, 
Flur, for whose love the Roman Caesar first 
Invaded Britain, " But we beat him back, 
As this great Prince invaded us, and we, 
Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy. 
And I can scarcely ride with you to court. 
For old am I, and rough the ways and wild ; 
But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream 
I see my princess as I see her now, 
Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay." 

But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint 
Woke where he slept in the high hall, and calPd 
For Enid, and when Yniol made report 
Of that good mother making Enid gay 
In such apparel as might well beseem 
His princess, or indeed the stately Queen, 




G ERA I NT AND ENID. 



He answer'd : " Earl, entreat her by my love, 
Albeit I give no reason but my wish, 
That she ride with me in her faded silk." 
Yniol with that hard message went ; it fell 
Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn : 
For Enid, all abash'd, she knew not why. 
Dared not to glance at her good mother's face. 
But silently, in all obedience. 
Her mother silent too, nor helping her, 
Laid from her limbs the costly-broider'd gift, 
And robed them in her ancient suit again, 
And so descended. Never man rejoiced 
More than Geraint to greet her thus attired ; 
And glancing all at once as keenly at her 
As careful robins eye the delver's toil. 
Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall. 
But rested with her sweet face satisfied ; 
Then seeing cloud upon the mother's brow. 
Her by both hands he caught, and sweetly said. 



)i '■;=»' 



S 






" O my new mother. l)e not wroth or grieved 
At thv new son. for my petition to her. 
When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen, 
In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet, 
Made promise, that whatever bride I brought. 
Herself would clothe her like the sun in Heaven. 
Thereafter, when I reach 'd this ruin'd hall. 
Beholding one so bright in dark estate, 
I vow'd that could I gain her, our fair Queen, 



II 







.'>^ 






m) 



f 



"I ,-« 111:1; 1^1:11 • >-^<* — ^f i) • / 



GERAINT AND ENID. 115 

N-j hand but hers, should make your Enid burst 
Suulike from cloud — and likewise thought per- 
haps, 
That service done so graciously would bind 
The two together ; fain I would the two 
Should love each other : how can Enid find 
A nobler friend? Another thought was mine ; 
I came among you here so suddenly. 
That tho' her gentle presence at the lists 
Might well have served for proof that I Avas loved, 
I doubted whether daughters tenderness, 
Or easy nature, might not let itself 
Be moulded by your wishes for her w eal ; 
Or whether some false sense in her own self 
Of my contrasting brightness overbore 
Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall ; 
And such a sense might make her long for court 
And all its perilous glories : and I thought. 
That could I someway prove such force in her 
Link'd with such love for me. that at a word 
(No reason given her) she could cast aside 
A splendor dear to women, new to her, 
And therefore dearer ; or if not so new, 
Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power 
Of intermitted usage ; then I felt 
That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows, 
Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest, 
A prophet certain of my prophecy, 
That never shadow of mistrust can cross 





Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts : 
And for my strange petition I will make 
Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day, 
When your fair child shall wear your costly gift 
Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her 

knees. 
Who knows? another gift of the high God, 
Which, maybe, shall have learned to lisp you 

thanks." 



vO. 




He spoke : the mother smiled, but half in tears, 
Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her 

in it. 
And claspt and kiss'd her, and they rode away. 

Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climbed 
The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say, 
Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset, 
And white sails flying on the yellow sea ; 
But not to goodly hill or yellow sea 
LookYl the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk, 
By the flat meadow, till she saw them come ; 
And then descending met them at the gates, 
Embraced her with all welcome as a friend, 
And did her honor as the Prince's bride. 
And clothed her for her bridals like the sun ; 
And all that week was old Caerleon gay. 
For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint. 
They twain were wedded with all ceremony. 






And this was on the last year's Whitsuntide. 
But Enid ever kept the faded silk, 
Remembering how first he came on her, 
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it, 
And all her foolish fears about the dress. 
And all his journey toward her, as himself 
Had told her, and their coming to the court. 

And now this morning when he said to her. 
" Put on your worst and meanest dress, ' she 

found 
And took it, and array'd herself therein. 



K 



O purblind race of miserable men, 
How many among us at this very hour 
Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, 
By taking true for false, or false for true ; 
Here, thro' the feeble twilight of this world 
Groping, how many, until we pass and reach 
That other, where we see as we are seen ! 

So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth 
That morning, when they both had got to horse, 
Perhaps because he loved her passionately. 
And felt that tempest brooding round his heart. 
Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce 
Upon a head so dear in thunder, said : 
" Not at my side. I charge thee ride before. 







GERAINT AND ENID. 

Ever a good way on before ; and this 
I charge thee, on thy duty as a wife, 
Whatever happens, not to speak to me, 
No, not a word ! " and Enid was aghast ; 
And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on. 
When crying out, " Effeminate as I am, 
I will not fight my way with gilded arms, 
All shall be iron ; " he loosed a mighty purse. 
Hung at his belt, and hurPd it toward the squire. 
So the last sight that Enid had of home 
Was all the marble threshold flashing, strown 
With gold and scattered coinage, and the squire 
Chafing his shoulder: then he cried again, 
"To the wilds!" and Enid leading down the 

tracks 
Thro' which he bade her lead him on, they past 
The marches, and by bandit-haunted holds, 
Gray swamps and pools, waste places of the 

hern, 
And wildernesses, perilous paths, they rode : 
Round was their pace at first, but slackened 

soon : 
A stranger meeting them had surely thought 
They rode so slowly and they look'd so pale. 
That each had sufter'd some exceeding wrong. 
For he was ever saying to himself, 
"01 that wasted time to tend upon her. 
To compass her with sweet observances. 
To dress her beautifully and keep her true " — 




(§ 

M 









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And there he broke the sentence in his heart 

Abruptly, as a man upon his tongue 

May break it, when his passion masters him. 

And she was ever praying the sweet heavens 

To save her dear lord whole from any wound. 

And ever in her mind she cast about 

For that unnoticed failing in herself, 

Which made him look so cloudy and so cold ; 

Till the great plover's human whistle amazed 

Her heart, and glancing round the waste she 

fear'd 
In every wavering brake an ambuscade. 
Then thought again, " If there be such in me, 
I might amend it by the grace of Heaven, 
If he would only speak and tell me of it." 

But when the fourth part of the day was gone, 
Then Enid was aware of three tall knights 
On horseback, wholly arm'd, behind a rock 
In shadow, waiting for them, caitiffs all ; 
And heard one crying to his fellow, " Look, 
Here comes a laggard hanging down his head, 
Who seems no bolder than a beaten hound ; 
Come, we will slay him and will have his horse 
And armor, and his damsel shall be ours." 

Then Enid pondered in her heart, and said ; 
" I will go back a little to my lord, 
And I will tell him all their caitiff talk : 





For, be he wroth even to slaying me, 
Far Hefer by his dear hand had I die. 
Than that my lord should suffer loss or shame." 

Then she went back some paces of return, 
Met his full frown timidly firm, and said; 
" My lord, I saw three bandits by the rock 
Waiting to fall on you, and heard them boast 
That they would slay you, and possess your 

horse 
And armor, and your damsel should be theirs." 

He made a wrathful answer: " Did I wish 
Your warning or your silence? one command 
I laid upon you, not to speak to me. 
And thus ye keep it! Well then, look — for 
now, 
^]^ Whether ye wish me victory or defeat. 

Long for my life, or hunger for my death. 
Yourself shall see my vigor is not lost." 

Then Enid waited pale and sorrowful. 
And down upon him bare the bandit three. 
And at the midmost charging, Prince Geraint 
Drave the long spear a cubit thro' his breast 
And out beyond ; and then against his brace 
Of comrades, each of whom had broken on him 
A lance that splintered like an icicle. 
Swung from his brand a windy buffet out 



m) 



'c^. 



^ 



GERAIXT AND ENID. 

Once, twice, to right, to left, and stunn'd the 

twain 
Or slew them, and dismounting like a man 
That skins the wild beast after slaying him, 
Stript from the three dead wolves of woman born 
The three gay suits of armor which they wore, 
And let the bodies lie, but bound the suits 
Of armor on their horses, each on each, 
And tied the bridle-reins of all the three 
Together, and said to her, " Drive them on 
Before you ; " and she drove them thro' the 

waste. 



He follow'd nearer : ruth began to work 
Against his anger in him, while he watched 
The being he loved best in all the world. 
With difficulty in mild obedience 
Driving them on : he fain had spoken to her. 
And loosed in words of sudden tire the wrath 
And smoulder'd wrong that burnt him all within ; 
But evermore it seem'd an easier thing 
At once without remorse to strike her dead. 
Than to cry " Halt," and to her own bright face 
Accuse her of the least immodesty : 
And thus tongue-tied, it made him wroth the 

more 
Tliat she could speak whom his own ear had 

heard 
Call herself false : and sufferino; thus he made 






GEKAfNT AND ENID. 







Minutes an age : but in scarce longer time 
Than at Caerleon the full-tided Usk, 
Before he turn to fall seaward again, 
Pauses, did Enid, keeping watch, behold 
In the first shallow shade of a deep wood. 
Before a gloom of stubborn-shafted oaks, 
Three other horsemen waiting, wholly arm'd, 
Whereof one seem'd far larger than her lord, 
And shook her pulses, crying, " Look, a prize ! 
Three horses and three goodly suits of arms, 
And all in charge of whom? a girl : set on." 
"Nay," said the second, "yonder conies a 

knight." 
The third, " A craven ; how he hangs his head." 
The giant answer'd merrily, " Yea, but one? 
Wait here, and when he passes fall upon him." 

And Enid ponder'd in her heart and said, 
•* I will abide the coming of my lord. 
And I will tell him all their villainy. 
My lord is weary with the fight before. 
And they will fall upon him unawares. 
I needs must disobey him for his good ; 
How should I dare obey him to his harm? 
Needs must I speak, and tho' he kill me for it, 
I save a life dearer to me than mine." 

And she abode his coming, and said to him 
With timid firmness, " Have I leave to speak? " 
He said, " Ye take it, speaking," and she spoke. 



' '0 I 



I 



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If 



GERAINT AND ENID. 123 

" There lurk three villains yonder in the wood, 
And each of them is wholly arm'd, and one 
Is larger-limb'd than you are, and they say 
That they will fall upon you while ye pass." 

To which he flung a wrathful answer back : 
" And if there were an hundred in the wood, 
And every man were larger-limb'd than I, 
And all at once should sally out upon me, 
I swear it would not ruffle me so much 
As you that not obey me. Stand aside, 
And if I fall, cleave to the better man." 

And Enid stood aside to wait the event. 
Not dare to watch the combat, only breathe 
Short fits of prayer, at every stroke a breath. 
And he, she dreaded most, bare down upon him. 
Aim'd at the helm, his lance err'd ; but Geraint's, 
A little in the late encounter strain'd, 
Struck thro' the bulky bandit's corselet home. 
And then brake short, and down his enemy 

rollYl, 
And there lay still ; as he that tells the tale • 
Saw once a great piece of a promontory, 
That had a sapling growing on it, slide 
From the long shore-cliff's windy walls to the 

beach. 
And there lie still, and yet the sapling grew : 
So lay the man transfixt. His craven pair 







Of comrades making slowlier at the Prince, 
When now they saw their bulwark fallen, 

stood ; 
On whom the victor, to confound them more, 
Spurrd with his terrible war-cry ; for as one, 
That listens near a torrent mountain-brook. 
All thro' the crash of the near cataract hears 
The drumming thunder of the huger fall 
At distance, were the soldiers wont to hear 
His voice in battle, and be kindled by it. 
And foemen scared, like that false pair who turn'd 
Flying, but, overtaken, died the death 
Themselves had wrought on many an innocent. 

Thereon Geraint, dismounting, pick'd the lance 
That pleased him best, and drew from those dead 

wolves 
Their three gay suits of armor, each from each. 
And bound them on their horses, each on each. 
And tied the bridle-reins of all the three 
Together, and said to her, " Drive them on 
Before you," and she drove them thro' the wood. 

He follow'd nearer still : the pain she had 
To keep them in the wild ways of the wood, 
Two sets of three laden with jingling arms, 
Together, served a little to disedge 
The sharpness of that pain about her heart : 
And they themselves, like creatures gently born 



i 






s 










// 



f 



GEKAINT AND 



But into bad hands fall'n, and now so long 

By bandits groom'd, prick'd their light ears, and 

felt 
Her low firm voice and tender government. 

So thro' the green gloom of the wood they past, 
And issuing under open heavens beheld 
A little town with towers, upon a rock, 
And close beneath, a meadow gemlike chased 
In the brown wild, and mowers mowing m it : 
And down a rocky pathway from the place 
There came a fair-hair'd youth, that in his hand 
Bare victual for the mowers : and Geraint 
Had ruth again on Enid looking pale : 
Then, moving downward to the meadow ground. 
He, when the fair-hair\l youth came by him, said, 
" Friend, let her eat ; the damsel is so faint.'" 
"Yea, willingly," replied the youth ; "and thou. 
My lord, eat also, tho' the fare is coarse, 
And only meet for mowers ; " then set down 
His basket, and dismounting on the sward 
They let the horses graze, and ate themselves. 
And Enid took a little delicately. 
Less having stomach for it than desire 
To close with her lord's pleasure ; but Geraint 
Ate all the mowers' victual unawares. 
And when he found all empty, was amazed ; 
And " Boy." said he, " I have eaten all, but take 
A horse and arms for guerdon ; choose the best." 



c(- 






He, reddening in extremity of delight, 

" My lord, you overpay me fifty-fold."' 

" Ye will be all the wealthier," cried the Prince. 

" I take it as free gift, then," said the boy, 

" Not guerdon ; for myself can easilv. 

While your good damsel rests, return, and fetch 

Fresh victual for these mowers of our Earl ; 

For these are his, and all the field is his, 

And I myself am his ; and I will tell hmi 

How great a man thou art : he loves to know 

When men of mark are in his territory: 

And he will have thee to his palace here. 

And serve thee costlier than with mowers' fare." 







Then said Geraint, " I wish no better fare 
I never ate with angrier appetite 
Than when I left your mowers dinnerless. 
And mto no Earl's palace will I go. 
I know, God knows, too much of palaces ! 
And if he wants me, let him come to me. 
But hire us some fair chamber for the night. 
And stalling for the horses, and return 
With victual for these men, and let us know.' 



it 



" Yea, my kind lord," said the glad youth, and IJ^aA 
went. 
Held his head high, and thought himself a knight, ; (c^v-f \ 
And up the rocky pathway disappear"d, 
Leading the horse, and they were left alone. Vf-V (f\l 







IM 



W 



1 
111 ik 



GERAIXT AND EA'ID. 

But when the Prince had brought his errant eyes 
Home from the rock, sideways he let them glance 
At Enid, where she droopt : his own false doom. 
That shadow of mistrust should never cross 
Betwixt them, came upon him, and he sigh'd ; 
Then with another humorous ruth remark'd 
The lusty mowers laboring dinnerless. 
And watch'd the sun blaze on the turning scythe, 
And after nodded sleepily in the heat. 
But she, remembering her old ruin'd hall. 
And all the windy clamor of the daws 
About her hollow turret, pluck'd the grass 
There growing longest by the meadow's edge. 
And into many a listless annulet. 
Now over, now beneath her marriage ring. 
Wove and unwove it, till the boy return'd 
And told them of a chamber, and they went ; 
Where, after saying to her. " If ye will. 
Call for the woman of the house," to which 
She answer'd, "Thanks, my lord;" the two 

remain'd 
Apart by all the chamber's width, and mute 
As creatures voiceless thro' the fault of birth. 
Or two wild men supporters of a shield, 
Painted, who stare at open space, nor glance 
The one at other, parted by the shield. 




On a sudden, many a voice along the street, 
And heel against the pavement echoing, burst 




Their drowse ; and either started while the door, 
Push'd from without, drave backward to the wall, 
And midmost of a rout of roisterers, 
Femininely fair and dissolutely pale. 
Her suitor in old years before Geraint, 
Entered, the wild lord of the place, Limours. 
He moving up with pliant courtliness. 
Greeted Geraint full face, but stealthily. 
In the mid-warmth of welcome and graspt hand, 
Found Enid with the corner of his eye, 
And knew her sitting sad and solitary. 
Then cried Geraint for wine and goodly cheer 
To feed the sudden guest, and sumptuously 
According to his fashion, bade the host 
Call in what men soever were his friends. 
And feast with these in honor of their Earl ; 
'• And care not for the cost ; the cost is mine." 



And wine and food were brought, and Earl 

Limours 
Drank till he jested with all ease, and told 
Free tales, and took the word and play'd upon it, 
And made it of two colors ; for his talk. 
When wine and free companions kindled him, 
Was wont to glance and sparkle like a gem 
Of fifty facets ; thus he moved the Prince 
To laughter and his comrades to applause. 
Then, when the Prince was merry, ask'd Limours, 
" Your leave, my lord, to cross the room, and 

speak 







m 






m 



f 



To your good damsel there who sits apart, 
And seems so lonely?" "My free leave," he 

said ; 
" Get her to speak : she doth not speak to me." 
Then rose Limours, and looking at his feet. 
Like him who tries the bridge he fears may fail, 
Crost and came near, lifted adoring eyes, 
Bow'd at her side and utter'd whisperingly : 

" Enid, the pilot star of my lone life, 
Enid, my early and my only love, 
Enid, the loss of whom hath turn'd me wild — 
What chance is this ? how is it I see you here ? 
Ye are in my power at last, are in my power. 
Yet fear me not : I call mine own self wild. 
But keep a touch of sweet civility 
Here in the heart of waste and wilderness. 
I thought, but that your father came between, 
In former days you saw me favorably. 
And if it were so do not keep it back : 
Make me a little happier : let me know it : 
Owe you me nothing for a life half-lost ? 
Yea, yea, the whole dear debt of all you are. 
And, Enid, you and he, I see with joy. 
Ye sit apart, you do not speak to him, 
You come with no attendance, page or maid, 
To serve you — doth he love you as of old.'* 
For, call it lovers' quarrels, yet I know 
Tho' men may bicker with the things they love, 






They would not make tiiem laughable in all eyes, 
Not while they loved them ; and your wretched 

dress, 
A wretched insult on you, dumbly speaks 
Your story, that this man loves you no more. 
Your beauty is no beauty to him now : 
A common chance — right well I know it — 

paird — 
For I know men : nor will ye win him back, 
For the man's love once gone never returns. 
But here is one who loves you as of old ; 
With more exceeding passion than of old : 
Good, speak the word : my followers ring him 

round : 
He sits unarm'd ; I hold a finger up ; 
They understand : nay ; I do not mean blood ; 
Nor need ye look so scared at what I say : 
My malice is no deeper than a moat, 
No stronger than a wall : there is the keep ; 
He shall not cross us more ; speak but the word : 
Or speak it not ; but then by Him that made me 
The one true lover whom you ever own'd, 
I will make use of all the power I have. 
O pardon me ! the madness of that hour, 
When first I parted from thee, moves me yet." 

At this the tender sound of his own voice 
And sweet self-pity, or the fancy of it. 
Made his eve moist ; but Enid fear"d his eves, 





Moist as they were, wine-heated from the feast; 
And answered with such craft as women use, 
Guilty or guiltless, to stave off a chance 
That breaks upon them perilously, and said ; 

" Earl, if you love me as in former years. 
And do not practise on me, come with morn. 
And snatch me from him as by violence ; 
Leave me to-night : I am weary to the death." 




Low at leave-taking, with his brandish'd plume 
Brushing his instep, bow'd the all-amorous Earl, 
And the stout Prince bade him a loud good-night. 
He moving homeward babbled to his men. 
How Enid never loved a man but him, 



But Enid left alone with Prince Geraint, 
Debating his command of silence given, 
And that she now perforce must violate it. 
Held commune with herself, and while she held 
He fell asleep, and Enid had no heart 
To wake him, but hung o'er him, wholly pleased 
To find him yet un wounded after fight. 
And hear him breathing low and equally. 
Anon she rose, and stepping lightly, heap'd 
The pieces of his armor in one place. 
All to be there against a sudden need ; 
Then dozed awhile herself, but overtoil'd 




By that day's grief and travel, evermore 
Seem'd catching at a rootless thorn, and then 
Went slipping down horrible precipices, 
And strongly striking out her limbs awoke ; 
Then thought she heard the wild Earl at the door. 
With all his rout of random followers, 
Sound on a dreadful trumpet, summoning her; 
Which was the red cock shouting to the light, 
As the gray dawn stole o'er the dewy world. 
And glimmer'd on his armor in the room. 
And once again she rose to look at it, 
But touch'd it unawares : jangling, the casque 
Fell, and he started up and stared at her. 
Then breaking his command of silence given, 
She told him all that Earl Limours had said. 
Except the passage that he loved her not ; 
Nor left untold the craft herself had used ; 
But ended with apology so sweet, 
Low-spoken, and of so few words, and seem'd 
So justified by that necessity. 
That tho' he thought " was it for him she wept 
In Devon?" he but gave a wrathful groan. 
Saying, " Your sweet faces make good fellows 

fools 
And traitors. Call the host and bid him bring 
Charger and palfry." So she glided out 
Among the heavy breathings of the house, 
And like a household Spirit at the walls 
Beat, till she woke the sleepers, and returned : 



s 



I 




Then tending her rough lord, tho' all unaskYi, 
In silence, did him service as a squire ; 
Till issuing arm'd he found the host and cried. 
'• Thy reckoning, friend? " and ere he learnt it, 

" Take 
Five horses and their armors ; " and the host 
Suddenly honest, answer'd in amaze, 
" i\Iy lord, I scarce have spent the worth of one ! " 
" Ye will be all the wealthier,"" said the Prince, 
And then to Enid, " Forward ! and to-day 
I charge you, Enid, more especially, 
What thing soever ye may hear, or see. 
Or fancy (tho' I count it of small use 
To charge you) that ye speak not but obey." 



i^s 



U 



And Enid answered, " Yea, my lord, I know 
Your wish, and would obey ; but riding first, 
I hear the violent threats you do not hear, 
I see the danger which you cannot see : 
Then not to give you warning, that seems hard ; 
Almost beyond me : yet I would obey." 

" Yea so," said he, " do it : be not too wise ; 
Seeing that ye are wedded to a man. 
Not all mismated with a yawning clown, 
But one with arms to guard his head and yours, 
With eyes to find you out however far. 
And ears to hear you even in his dreams." 



^\ 




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mi 
mi 



M 



With that he turn'd and look'd as keenly at her 
As careful robins eye the delver's toil ; 
And that within her, whicli a wanton fool, 
Or hasty judger would have call'd her guilt, 
Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall. 
And Geraint look'd and was not satisfied. 

Then forward by a way which, beaten broad, 
Led from the territory of false Limours 
To the waste earldom of another earl, 
Doorm, whom his shaking vassals calPd the Bull, 
Went Enid with her sullen follower on. 
Once she look'd back, and when she saw him ride 
More near by many a rood than yestermorn. 
It well-nigh made her cheerful ; till Geraint 
Waving an angry hand as who should say 
" Ye watch me," sadden'd all her heart again. 
But while the sun yet beat a dewy blade, 
Tiie sound of many a heavily-galloping hoof 
Smote on her ear, and turning round she saw 
Dust, and the points of lances bicker in it. 
Then not to disobey her lord's behest. 
And yet to give him warning, for he rode 
As if he heard not, moving back she held 
Her finger up, and pointed to the dust. 
At which the warrior in his obstinacy, 
Because she kept the letter of his word. 
Was in a manner pleased, and turning, stood. 
And in the moment after, wild Limours, 




i% 



GERAIxYT AjVD ENID. 135 



Borne on a black horse, like a thunder-cloud 
Whose skirts are loosenVl by the breaking storm, 
Half ridden off with by the thing he rode. 
And all in passion uttering a dry shriek, 
Dash'd on Geraint, who closed with him, and bore 
Down by the length of lance and arm beyond 
The crupper, and so left him stunn'd or dead, 
And overthrew the next that follow'd him, 
And blindly rush'd on all the rout behind. 
But at the flash and motion of the man 
They vanish'd panic-stricken, like a shoal 
Of darting fish, that on a summer morn 
Adown the crystal dykes at Camelot 
Come slipping o'er their shadows on the sand, 
Bwt if a man who stands upon the brink 
But lift a shining hand against the sun, 
There is not left the twinkle of a fin 
Betwixt the cressy islets white in flower ; 
So, scared but at the motion of the man. 
Fled all the boon companions of the Earl, 
And left him lying in the public way ; 
So vanish friendships only made in wine. 



(^ 



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Then like a stormy sunlight smiled Geraint, 
Who saw the chargers of the two that fell 
Start from their fallen lords, and wildly fly, 
Mixt with the flyers. " Horse and man," he 

said, 
" All of one mind and all right-honest friends ! 




Not a hoof left : and I methinks till now 

Was honest — paid with horses and with arms ; 

I cannot steal or plunder, no nor beg : 

And so what say ye, shall we strip him there 

Your lover? has your palfrey heart enough 

To bear his armor? shall we fast, or dine? 

No? — then do thou, being right honest, pray 

That we may meet the horsemen of Earl Doorm, 

I too would still be honest." Thus he said : 

And sadly gazing on her bridle-reins. 

And answering not one word, she led the way. 



But as a man to whom a dreadful loss 
Falls in a far land and he knows it not. 
But coming back he learns it, and the loss 
So pains him that he sickens nigh to death ; 
So fared it with Geraint, who being prick'd 
In combat with the follower of Limours, 
Bled underneath his armor secretly. 
And so rode on, nor told his gentle wife 
What ail'd him, hardly knowing it himself. 
Till his eye darkened and his helmet wagg'd ; 
And at a sudden swerving of the road, 
Tho' happily down on a bank of grass, 
The Prince, without a word, from his horse fell. 

And Enid heard the clashing of his fall. 
Suddenly came, and at his side all pale 
Dismounting, loosed the fastenings of his arms. 



\l 







■■O., 



§if 



GERAINT AND ENID. 

Nor let her true hand falter, nor blue eye 
Moisten, till she had lighted on his wound, 
And tearing off her veil of faded silk 
Had bared her forehead to the blistering sun. 
And swathed the hurt that drain'd her dear lord's 

life. 
Then after all was done that hand could do, 
She rested, and her desolation came 
Upon her, and she wept beside the way. 

And many past, but none regarded her, 
For in that realm of lawless turbulence, 
A woman weeping for her murder'd mate 
Was cared as much for as a summer shower : 
One took him for a victim of Earl Doorm, 
Nor dared to waste a perilous pity on him : 
Another hurrying past, a man-at-arms. 
Rode on a mission to the bandit Earl ; 
Half whistling and half singing a coarse song, 
He drove the dust against her veilless eyes : 
Another, flying from the wrath of Doorm 
Before an ever-fancied arrow, made 
The long way smoke beneath him in his fear ; 
At which her palfrey whinnying lifted heel. 
And scour'd into the coppices and was lost. 
While the great charger stood, grieved like a man. 

But at the point of noon the huge Earl Doorm, 
Broad-faced with under-fringe of russet beard. 



J) ^;=^ 





ENID. 

Bound on a foray, rolling eyes of prey. 
Came riding with a hundred lances up ; 
But ere he came, like one that hails a ship. 
Cried out with a big voice, " What, is he dead? " 
" No, no, not dead !" she answer'd in all haste. 
'■ Would some of your kind people take him up, 
And bear hmi hence out of this cruel sun? 
Most sure am I, quite sure, he is not dead," 



Then said Earl Doorm : " Well, if he be not 
dead. 
Why wail ye for him thus ? ye seem a child. 
And be he dead, I count you for a fool ; 
Your wailing will not quicken him : dead or not, 
Ye mar a comely face with idiot tears. 
Yet, smce the face ts comely — some of you. 
Here, take him up, and bear him to our hall : 
And if he live, we will have him of our band ; 
And if he die, why earth has earth enough 
To hide him. See ye take the charger too, 
A noble one." 



i!L.^ 



He spake, and past away, 
But left two brawny spearmen, who advanced. 
Each growling like a dog, when his good bone 
Seems to be pluck'd at by the village boys 
Who love to vex him eating, and he fears 
To lose his bone, and lays his foot upon it, 
Gnawing and growling : so the ruffians growl'd, 




I 






I 






Fearing to lose, and all for a dead man, 
Their chance of booty from the morning's raid, 
Yet raised and laid him on a litter-bier. 
Such as they brought upon their forays out 
For those that might be wounded ; laid him on it 
All in the hollow of his shield, and took 
And bore him to the naked hall of Doorm, 
(His gentle charger following him unled) 
And cast him and the bier in which he lay 
Down on an oaken settle in the hall. 
And then departed, hot in haste to join 
Their luckier mates, but growling as before. 
And cursing their lost time, and the dead man. 
And their own Earl, and their own souls, and 

her. 
They might as well have blest her : she was deaf 
To blessing or to cursing save from one. 

So for long hours sat Enid by her lord. 
There in the naked hall, propping his head, 
And chafing his pale hands, and calling to him. 
Till at the last he waken'd from his swoon. 
And found his own dear bride propping his head. 
And chafing his faint hands, and calling to him ; 
And felt the warm tears falling on his face ; 
And said to his own heart, " She weeps for me : " 
And yet lay still, and feign'd himself as dead 
That he might prove her to the uttermost. 
And say to his own heart, " She weeps for me." 



TT^S^^ 





But in the falling afternoon return'd 
The huge Earl Doorm with plunder to the hall. 
His lust_v spearmen follow'd him with noise : 
Each hurling down a heap of things that rang 
Against the pavement, cast his lance aside, 
And doft'd his helm : and then there flutter'd in, 
Half-bold, half-frighted, with dilated eyes, 
A tribe of women, dress'd in many hues, 
And mingled with the spearmen : and Earl 

Doorm 
Struck with a knife's haft hard against the board. 
And caird for flesh and wine to feed his spears. 
And men brought in whole hogs and quarter 

beeves, 
And all the hall was dim with steam of flesh : 
And none spake word, but all sat down at once, 
And ate with tumult in the naked hall, 
Feeding like horses when you hear them feed ; 
Till Enid shrank far back into herself. 
To shun the wild ways of the lawless tribe. 
But when Earl Doorm had eaten all he would, 
He roird his eyes about the hall, and found 
A damsel drooping in a corner of it. 
Then he remember'd her, and how she wept ; 
And out of her there came a power upon him ; 
And rising on the sudden he said, " Eat ! 
I never yet beheld a thing so pale. 
God's curse, it makes me mad to see you weep. 
Eat ! Look yourself. Good luck had your good 

man, 



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For were I dead who is it would weep for me ? 
Sweet lady, never since I first drew breath 
Have I beheld a lily like yourself. 
And so there lived some color in your cheek, 
There is not one among my gentlewomen 
Were fit to wear your slipper for a glove. 
But listen to me, and by me be ruled. 
And I will do the thing I have not done. 
For ye shall share my earldom with me, girl, 
And we will live like two birds in one nest, 
And I will fetch you forage from all fields, 
For I compel all creatures to my will." 

He spoke : the brawny spearman let his cheek 
Bulge with the unswallow'd piece, and turning 

stared ; 
While some, whose souls the old serpent long 

had drawn 
Down, as the worm draws in the withered leaf 
And makes it earth, hiss'd each at other's ear 
What shall not be recorded — women they, 
Women, or what had been those gracious things. 
But now desired the humbling of their best. 
Yea, would have help'd him to it : and all at 

once 
They hated her, who took no thought of them. 
But answer'd in low voice, her meek head yet 
Drooping. " I pray you of your courtesy, 
He being as he is, to let me be." 




.'^<^^ 



She spake so low he hardly heard her speak. 
But like a mighty patron, satisfied 
With what himself had done so graciously, 
Assumed that she had thank'd him, adding, 

" Yea, 
Eat and be glad, for I account vou mine." 



f 



She answered meekly, " How should I be glad 
Henceforth in all the world at anything. 
Until my lord arise and look upon me?" 

Here the huge Earl cried out upon her talk. 
As all but empty heart and weariness 
And sickly nothing ; suddenly seized on her. 
And bare her by main violence to the board. 
And thrust the dish before her, crying, " Eat." 



P^ 



" No, no," said Enid, vext, " I will not eat 
Till yonder man upon the bier arise, 
And eat with me." "Drink, then," he an- 
swered. " Here ! " 
(And fiird a horn with wine and held it to 

her,) 
" Lo ! I, myself, when flush'd with fight, or 

hot, 
God's curse, with anger — often I myself. 
Before I well have drunken, scarce can eat : 
Drink therefore and the wine will change your 
will." 



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GEKAIXT AND ENID. 



143 



" Not so," she cried, " by Heaven, I will not 
drink 
Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it, 
And drink witli me ; and if he rise no more, 
I will not look at wine until I die." 

At this he turn'd all red and paced his hall, 
Now gnaw'd his under, now his upper lip, 
And coming up close to her, said at last : 
" Girl, for I see ye scorn my courtesies. 
Take warning : yonder man is surely dead ; 
And I compel all creatures to my will. 
Not eat nor drink? And wherefore wail for one, 
Who put your beauty to this flout and scorn 
By dressing it in rags? Amazed am I, 
Beholding how ye butt against my wish, 
That I forbear you thus : cross me no more. 
At least put off to please me this poor gown. 
This silken rag, this beggar-woman"s weed : 
I love that beauty should go beautifully : 
For see ye not my gentlewomen here. 
How gay, how suited to the house of one 
Who loves that beauty should go beautifully? 
Rise therefore ; robe yourself in this : obey." 

He spoke, and one among his gentlewomen 
Displayed a splendid silk of foreign loom. 
Where like a shoaling sea the lovely blue 
Plav'd into green, and thicker down the front 



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AND ENID. 

With jewels than the sward with drops of dew, 
When all night long a cloud clings to the hill, 
And with the dawn ascending lets the day 
Strike where it clung : so thickly shone the gems. 



But Enid answer'd, harder to be moved 
Than hardest tyrants in their day of power, 
W^ith life-long injuries burning unavenged. 
And now their hour has come ; and Enid said : 

" In this poor gown my dear lord found me 
first 
And loved me serving in my father's hall : 
In this poor gown I rode with him to court, 
And there the Queen array'd me like the sun : 
In this poor gown he bade me clothe myself. 
When now we rode upon this fatal quest 
Of honor, where no honor can be gain'd : 
And this poor gown I will not cast aside 
Until himself arise a living man, 
And bid me cast it. I have griefs enough : 
Pray you be gentle, pray you let me be : 
I never loved, can never love but him : 
Yea, God, I pray you of your gentleness. 
He being as he is, to let me be." 

Then strode the brute Earl up and down his 
hall. 
And took his russet beard between his teeth ; 




.'A 







Last, coming up quite close, and in his mood 
Crying, " I count it of no more avail, 
Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you ; 
Take my salute," unknightly with flat hand, 
However lightly, smote her on the cheek. 

Then Enid, in her utter helplessness, 
And since she thought, "He had not dared to 

do it. 
Except he surely knew my lord was dead," 
Sent forth a sudden sharp and bitter cry, 
As of a wild thing taken in the trap. 
Which sees the trapper coming thro' the wood. 

This heard Geraint, and grasping at his sword, 
(It lay beside him in the hollow shield). 
Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it 
Shore thro' the swarthy neck, and like a ball 
The russet-bearded head rolPd on the floor. 
So died Earl Doorra by him he counted dead. 
And all the men and women in the hall 
Rose when they saw the dead man rise, and fled 
Yelling as from a spectre, and the two 
Were left alone together, and he said : 

" Enid, I have used you worse than that dead 
man ; 
Done you more wrong : we both have undergone 
That trouble which has left me thrice your own : 
Henceforward I will rather die than doubt. 





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And here I lay this penance on myself, 

Not, tho' mine own ears heard you yestermorn -- 

You thought me sleeping, but I heard you say, 

I heard you say, that you were no true wife : 

I swear I will not ask your meaning in it : 

I do believe yourself against yourself. 

And will henceforward rather die than doubt." 



And Enid could not say one tender word, 
She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart : 
She only pray'd him, " Fly, they will return 
And slay you ; fly, your charger is without. 
My palfrey lost." " Then, Enid, shall you ride 
Behind me." " Yea," said Enid, " let us go." 
And moving out they found the stately horse. 
Who now no more a vassal to the thief. 
But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight, 
Neigh'd with all gladness as they came, and 

stoop'd 
With a low whinny toward the pair : and she 
Kiss'd the white star upon his noble front. 
Glad also ; then Geraint upon the horse 
Mounted, and reached a hand, and on his foot 
She set her own and climb'd ; he turn'd his face 
And kiss'd her climbing, and she cast her arms 
About him, and at once they rode away. 

And never yet, since high in Paradise 
O'er the four rivers the first roses blew, 





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Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind 
Than lived thro' her, who in that perilous hour 
Put hand to hand beneath her husband's heart, 
And felt him hers again : she did not weep, 
But o'er her meek eyes came a happy mist 
Like that which kept the heart of Eden green 
Before the useful trouble of the rain : 
Yet not so misty were her meek blue eyes 
As not to see before them on the path, 
Right in the gateway of the bandit hold, 
A knight of Arthur's court, who laid his lance 
In rest, and made as if to fall upon him. 
Then, fearing for his hurt and loss of blood, 
She, with her mind all full of what had chanced, 
Shriek'd to the stranger, " Slay not a dead 

man ! " 
" The voice of Enid,"' said the knight ; but she. 
Beholding it was Edyrn son of Nudd, 
Was moved so much the more, and shriek'd 

again, 
" O cousin, slay not him who gave you life." 
And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake : 
" My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love : 
I took you for a bandit knight of Doorm ; 
And fear not, Enid, I should fall upon him. 
Who love you, Prince, with something of the love 
Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us. 
For once, when I was up so high in pride 
That I was halfway down the slope to Hell, 




By overthrowing me you threw me higher. 
Now, made a knight of Arthur's Table Round 
And since I knew this Earl, when I myself 
Was half a bandit in my lawless hour, 
I come the mouthpiece of our King to Doorm 
(The King is close behind me) bidding him 
Disband himself, and scatter all his powers, 
Submit, and hear the judgment of the King." 



i 



" He hears the judgment of the King of 

kings," 
Cried the wan Prince; "and lo, the powers of 

Doorm 
Are scattered." and he pointed to the field. 
Where, huddled here and there on mound and 

knoll, 
Were men and women staring and aghast. 
While some yet fled ; and then he plainlier told 
How the huge Earl lay slain within his hall. 
But when the knight besought him, " Follow me. 
Prince, to the camp, and in the King's own ear 
Speak what has chanced ; ye surely have endured 
Strange chances here alone ; " that other flushed 
And hung his head, and halted in reply, 
Fearing the mild face of the blameless King, 
And after madness acted question ask'd : 
Till Edyrn crying, " If ye will not go 
To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you." 
" Enough," he said, " I follow," and they went. 




s^^:?' 




But Enid in their going had two fears, 

One from the bandit scatterd in the field. 

And one from Edyrn. Every now and then, 

When Edyrn rein'd his charger at her side, 

She shrank a Httle. In a hollow land, 

From which old fires have broken, men may fear 

Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said : 



" Fair and dear cousin, you that most had 

cause 
To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed. 
Yourself were first the blameless cause to make 
My nature's prideful sparkle in the blood 
Break into furious flame ; being repulsed 
By Yniol and yourself, I schemed and wrought 
Until I overturn'd him ; then set up 
(With one main purpose ever at my heart) 
My haughty jousts, and took a paramour ; 
Did her mock-honor as the fairest fair. 
And, toppling over all antagonism. 
So wax'd in ])ride, that I believed myself 
Unconquerable, for I was well-nigh mad : 
And, but for my main purpose in these jousts, 
I should have slain your father, seized yourself. 
I lived in hope that sometime you would come 
To these my lists with him whom best you loved ; 
And there, poor cousin, with your meek blue 

eyes, 
The truest eyes that ever answer'd Heaven, 




V\ i 



Behold me overturn and trample on him. 
Then, had you cried, or knelt, or pray'd to me, 
I should not less have kilPd him. And you 

came, — 
But once you came, — and with your own true 

eyes 
Beheld the man you loved (I speak as one 
Speaks of a service done him) overthrow 
My proud self, and my purpose three years old, 
And set his foot upon me, and give me life. 
There was I broken down ; there was I saved : 
Tho' thence I rode all-shamed, hating the life 
He gave me, meaning to be rid of it. 
And all the penance the Queen laid upon me 
Was but to rest awhile within her court ; 
Where first as sullen as a beast new-caged. 
And waiting to be treated like a wolf. 
Because I knew my deeds were known, I found, 
Instead of scornful pity or pure scorn. 
Such fine reserve and noble reticence, 
Manners so kind, yet stately, such a grace 
Of tenderest courtesy, that I began 
To glance behind me at my former life, 
And find that it had been the wolfs indeed : 
And oft I talk'd with Dubric, the high saint, 
Who, with mild heat of holy oratory, 
Subdued me somewhat to that gentleness. 
Which, when it weds with manliood. makes a man. 
And you were often there about the Queen, 




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But saw me not, or mark'd not if you saw ; 
Nor did I care or dare to speak with you, 
But kept myself aloof till I was changed ; 
And fear not, cousin; I am changed indeed.'' 

He spoke, and Enid easily believed. 
Like simple noble natures, credulous 
Of what they long for, good in friend or foe, 
There most in those who most have done them 

ill. 
And when they reached the camp the King himself 
Advanced to greet them, and beholding her 
Tho' pale, yet happy, ask'd her not a word. 
But went apart with Edyrn, whom he held 
In converse for a little, and return'd. 
And, gravely smiling, lifted her from horse. 
And kiss'd her with all pureness, brother-like, 
And show'd an empty tent allotted her, 
And glancing for a minute, till he saw her 
Pass into it, turn'd to the Prince, and said : 

" Prince, when of late ye pray'd me for my leave 
To move to your own land, and there defend 
Your marches, I was prick'd with some reproof, 
As one that let foul wrong stagnate and be. 
By having look'd too much thro' alien eyes. 
And wrought too long with delegated hands. 
Not used mine own : but now behold me come 
To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm, 






// 



With Edyrn and with others : have ye look'd 
At Edyrn? have ye seen how nobly changed? 
This work of his is great and wonderful. 
His very face with change of heart is changed, 
The world will not believe a man repents : 
And this wise world of ours is mainly right. 
Full seldom doth a man repent, or use 
Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch 
Of blood and custom wholly out of him, 
And make all clean, and plant himself afresh. 
Edyrn has done it, weeding all his heart 
As I will weed this land before I go. 
I, therefore, made him of our Table Round, 
Not rashly, but have proved him e\ery\vay 
One of our noblest, our most valorous. 
Sanest and most obedient : and indeed 
This work of Edyrn wrought upon himself 
After a life of violence, seems to me 
A thousand-fold more great and wonderful 
Than if some knight of mine, risking his life, 
My subject with my subjects under him. 
Should make an onslaught single on a realm 
Of robbers, tho' he slew them one by one. 
And were himself nigh wounded to the death."' 



So spake the King ; low bow'd the Prince, and -, y,, 
felt 

great nor wonderful, 

came V^-YA 




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The King's own leech to look into his hurt ; 
And Enid tended on him there ; and there 
Her constant motion round him, and the breath 
Of her sweet tendance hovering over him, 
Fiird all the genial courses of his blood 
With deeper and with ever deeper love. 
As the south-west that blowing Bala lake 
Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days. 

But while Geraint lay healing of his hurt, 
The blameless King went forth and cast his eyes 
On each of all whom Uther left in charge 
Long since, to guard the justice of the King : 
He look'd and found them wanting ; and as now 
Men weed the white horse on the Berkshire hills 
To keep him bright and clean as heretofore. 
He rooted out the slothful officer 
Or guilty, which for bribe had wink'd at wrong. 
And in their chairs set up a stronger race 
With hearts and hands, and sent a thousand men 
To till the wastes, and moving everywhere 
Clear'd the dark places and let in the law, 
And broke the bandit holds and cleansed the 
land. 



Then, when Geraint was whole again, they past 
With Arthur to Caerleon upon Usk. 
There the great Queen once more embraced her 
friend, 






And clothed her in apparel like the day. 
And tho' Geraint could never take again 
That comfort from their converse which he took 
Before the Queen's fair name was breathed upon, 
He rested well content that all was well. 
Thence after tarrying for a space they rode, 
And fifty knights rode with them to the shores 
Of Severn, and they past to their own land. 
And there he kept the justice of the King 
So vigorously yet mildly, that all hearts 
Applauded, and the spiteful whisper died : 
And being ever foremost in the chase, 
And victor at the tilt and tournament, 
They call'd him the great Prince and man of men. 
But Enid, whom the ladies loved to call 
Enid the Fair, a grateful people named 
Enid the Good ; and in their halls arose 
The cry of children, Enids and Geraints 
Of times to be ; nor did he doubt her more. 
But rested in her fealty, till he crown'd 
A happy life with a fair death, and fell 
Against the heathen of the Northern Sea 
In battle, fighting for the blameless King. 






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MERLIN AND ViVIEN. 

A STORM was coming, but the winds were still, 
And in the wild woods of Broceliande, 
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old 
It look'd a tower of ruin'd masonwork. 
At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay. 

Whence came she? One that bare in bitter 

grudge 
The scorn of Arthur and his Table, Mark 
The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice, 
A minstrel of Caerleon by strong storm 
Blown into shelter at Tintagil, say 
That out of naked knightlike purity 
Sir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girl 
But the great Queen herself, fought in her name, 
Sware by her — vows like theirs, that high in 

heaven 
Love most, but neither marry, nor are given 
In marriage, angels of our Lord's report. 

He ceased, and then — for Vivien sweetly said 
(She sat beside the banquet nearest Mark), 
" And is the fair example followed. Sir, 
In Arthur's household ? " — answered innocently : 



^ 




" Ay, by some few- 

hold 
It more beseems the perfect virgin knight 
To worship woman as true wife beyond 
All hopes of gaining, than as maiden girl. 
They place their pride in Lancelot and the 

Queen. 
So passionate for an utter purity 
Beyond the limit of their bond, are these, 
For Arthur bound them not to singleness. 
Brave hearts and clean ! and yet — God guide 

them — young." 



Then Mark was half in heart to hurl his cup 
Straight at the speaker, but forebore : he rose 
To leave the hall, and, Vivien following him, 
Turn'd to her: "Here are snakes within the 

grass ; 
And you methinks, O Vivien, save ye fear 
The monkish manhood, and the mask of pure 
Worn by this court, can stir them till they sting." 



MJ- 



And Vivien answered, smiling scornfully, 
"Why fear? because that foster'd at //ly court 
I savor of thy —virtues? fear them? no. 
As Love, if Love be perfect, casts out fear. 
So Hate, if Hate be perfect, casts out fear. 
My father died in battle against the King, 
My mother on his corpse in open field ; 




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She bore me there, for born from death was I 
Among the dead and sown upon the wind — 
And then on thee ! and shown the truth betimes, 
That old true filth, and bottom of the well. 
Where Truth is hidden. Gracious lessons thine 
And maxims of the mud ! ' This Arthur pure ! 
Great Nature thro" the flesh herself hath made 
Gives him the lie 1 There is no being pure. 
My cherub ; saith not Holy Writ the same? ' — 
If I were Arthur, I would have thy blood. 
Thy blessing, stainless King ! I bring thee back. 
When I have ferreted out their burrowings. 
The hearts of all this Order in mine hand — 
Ay — so that fate and craft and folly close. 
Perchance, one curl of Arthur's golden beard. 
To me this narrow grizzled fork of thine 
Is cleaner-fashion'd — Well, I loved thee first. 
That warps the wit." 

Loud laugh'd the graceless Mark. 
But Vivien, into Camelot stealing, lodged 
Low in the city, and on a festal day 
When Guinevere was crossing the great hall 
Cast herself down, knelt to the Queen, and 
waird. 

" Why kneel ye there? What evil have ye 
wrought ? 
Rise ! " and the damsel bidden rise arose 





158 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

And stood with folded hands and downward 

eyes 
Of glancing corner, and all meekly said, 
" None wrought, but suffered much, an orphan 

maid ! 
My father died in battle for thy King. 
My mother on his corpse — in open field. 
The sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonesse — 
Poor wretch — no friend ! — and now by Mark 

the King 
For that small charm of feature mine, pursued — 
If any such be mine — I fly to thee. 
Save, save me thou — Woman of women — thine 
The wreath of beauty, thine the crown of power. 
Be thine the balm of pity, O Heaven's own white 
Earth-angel, stainless bride of stainless King — 
Help, for he follows! take me to thyself! 
O yield me shelter for mine innocency 
Among thy maidens ! " 

Here her slow sweet eyes 
Fear-tremulous, but humbly hopeful, rose 
Fixt on her hearers, while the Queen who stood 
All glittering like May sunshine on May leaves 
In green and gold, and plumed with green 

replied, 
"Peace, child ! of overpraise and overblame 
We choose the last. Our noble Arthur, him 
Ye scarce can overpraise, will hear and know. 



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MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 159 

Nay — we believe all evil of thy Mark — 
Well, we shall test thee farther; but this hour 
We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot. 
He hatli given us a fair falcon which he train'd ; 
We go to prove it. Bide ye here the while." 

She past ; and Vivien murmur'd after " Go ! 
I bide the while." Then thro' the portal -arch 
Peering askance, and muttering broken-wise, 
As one that labors with an evil dream, 
Beheld the Queen and Lancelot get to horse. 

"Is that the Lancelot? goodly — ay, but 

gaunt : 
Courteous — amends for gauntness — takes her 

hand — 
That glance of theirs, but for the street, had been 
A clinging kiss — how hand lingers in hand ! 
Let go at last ! — they ride away — to hawk 
For waterfowl. Royaller game is mine. 
For such a supersensual sensual bond 
As that gray cricket chirpt of at our hearth — 
Touch flax with flame — a glance will serve — 

the liars ! 
Ah little rat that borest in the dyke 
Thy hole by night to let the boundless deep 
Down upon far-off cities while they dance — 
Or dream — of thee they dream'd not — nor of 

me 



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These — ay, but each of either : ride, and dream 
The mortal dream that never yet was mine — 
Ride, ride and dream until ye wake — to me ! 
Then, narrow court and lubber King, farewell ! 
For Lancelot will be gracious to the rat, 
And our wise Queen, if knowing that I know. 
Will hate, loathe, fear — but honor me the 
more." 



D 



Yet while they rode together down the plain, 
Their talk was all of training, terms of art, 
Diet and seeling, jesses, leash and lure. 
" She is too noble " he said " to check at pies, 
Nor will she rake : there is no baseness in her." 
Here when the Queen demanded as by chance 
'•Know ye the stranger woman?" "Let her 

be," 
Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off 
The goodly falcon free ; she towei'd ; her bells, 
Tone under tone, shrill'd : and they lifted up 
Their eager faces, wondering at the strength. 
Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird 
Who pounced her quarry and slew it. Many a 

time 
As once — of old — among the flowers — they 

rode. 

But Vivien half-forgotten of the Queen 
Among her damsels broidering sat, heard, 
watchVI 



ii 





— — — :=■•=>» '^■^•D ■ // 



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MERLIN AND VIVIEN. i6i 

And whisper'd : thro' the peaceful court she crept 
And whisper'd : then as Arthur in the highest 
Leaven'd the world, so Vivien in the lowest, 
Arriving at a time of golden rest, 
And sowing one ill hint from ear to ear. 
While all the heathen lay at Arthur's feet. 
And no quest came, but all was joust and play, 
Leaven'd his hall. They heard and let her be. 

Thereafter as an enemy that has left 
Death in the living waters, and withdrawn. 
The wily Vivien stole from Arthur's court. 

She hated all the knights, and heard in thought 
Their lavish comment when her name was named. 
For once, when Arthur walking all alone, 
Vext at a rumor issued from herself 
Of some corruption crept among his knights. 
Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair. 
Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood 
With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice. 
And flutter'd adoration, and at last 
With dark sweet hints of some who prized him 

more 
Than who should prize him most ; at which the 

King 
Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by : 
But one had watch'd, and had not held his peace : 
It made the laughter of an afternoon 






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i6: 



MERLIX AND VIVIEN. 



That Vivien should attempt the blameless King. 
And after that, she set herself to gain 
Him, the most famous man of all those times. 
Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts. 
Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls, 
Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens ; 
The people call'd him Wizard ; whom at first 
She play'd about with slight and sprightly talk. 
And vivid smiles, and faintly-venom'd points 
Of slander, glancing here and grazing there ; 
And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer 
Would watch her at her petulance, and play, 
Ev'n when they seem'd unlovable, and laugh 
As those that watch a kitten ; thus he grew 
Tolerant of what he half disdain'd, and she. 
Perceiving that she was but half disdain'd, 
Began to break her sports with graver tits. 
Turn red or pale, would often when they met 
Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him 
With such a fixt devotion, that the old man, 
Tho' doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times 
Would flatter his own wish in age for love. 
And half believe her true : for thus at times 
He waver'd : but that other clung to him, 
Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went. 



^? 



m 



Then fell on Merlin a great melancholy ; 
He walk'd with dreams and darkness, and he 
found 











MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 163 

A doom that ever poised itself to fall. 

An ever-moaning battle in the mist, 

World-war of dying flesh against the life, 

Death in all life and lying in all love, 

The meanest having power upon the highest. 

And the high purpose broken by the worm. 

So leaving Arthur's court he gained the beach ; 
There found a little boat, and stept into it; 
And Vivien followed, but he mark'd her not. 
She took the helm and he the sail ; the boat 
Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps, 
And touching Breton sands, they disembarked. 
And then she followed Merlin all the way, 
Ev'n to the wild woods of Broceliande. 
For Merlin once had told her of a charm. 
The which if any wrought on any one 
With woven paces and with waving arms. 
The man so wrought on ever seem'd to lie 
Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower. 
From which was no escape for evermore ; 
And none could find that man for evermore. 
Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm 
Coming and going, and he lay as dead 
And lost to life and use and name and fame. 
And Vivien ever sought to work the charm 
Upon the great Enchanter of the Time, 
As fancying that her glory would be great 
According to his greatness whom she quench'd. 



^^^ 



x\ 




(ii. 




There lay she all her length and kiss'd his feet, 
As if in deepest reverence and in love. 
A twist of gold was round her hair ; a robe 
Of samite without price, that more exprest 
Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs. 
In color like the satin-shining palm 
On sallows in the windy gleams of March : 
And while she kiss'd them, crying, " Trample me, 
Dear feet, that I have followed thro' the world, 
And I will pay you worship ; tread me down 
And I will kiss you for it ; " he was mute : 
So dark a forethought rolTd about his brain, 
As on a dull day in an Ocean cave 
The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall 
In silence: wherefore, when she lifted up 
A face of sad appeal, and spake and said, 
" O Merlin, do ye love me?" and again, 
"O Merlin, do ye love me?" and once more, 
•' Great master, do ye love me?" he was mute. 
And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel. 
Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat, 
Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet 
Together, curved an arm about his neck. 
Clung like a snake ; and letting her left hand 
Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf, 
Made with her right a comb of pearl to part 
The' lists of such a beard as youth gone out 
Had left in ashes : then he spoke and said, 
Not looking at her, "Who are wise in love 





Love most, say least," and Vivien answer'd quick, 
'• 1 saw the little elf-god eyeless once 
In Arthur's arras hall at Camelot : 
But neither eyes nor tongue — O stupid child ' 
Yet you are wise who say it ; let me think 
Silence )s wisdom ; 1 am silent then. 
And ask no kiss ; '" then adding all at once, 
*• And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom," drew 
The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard 
Across her neck and bosom to her knee. 
And call'd herself a gilded summer fly 
Caught in a great old tyrant spider's web. 
Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood 
Without one word. So Vivien call'd herself. 
But rather seem'd a lovely baleful star 
Veil'd in gray vapor; till he sadly smiled: 
**To what request for what strange boon," he 

said, 
*' Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries, 
O Vivien, the preamble? yet my thanks. 
For these have broken up my melancholy." 



And Vivien answer'd smiling saucily, 
" What, O my Master, have ye found your voice ? 
I bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at last ! 
But yesterday you never open'd lip, 
Except indeed to drink : no cup had we : 
In mine own lady palms I cuU'd the spring 
That gather'd trickling drop wise from the cleft, 




And made a pretty cup of both my hands 
And offer'd you it kneehng : then you drank 
And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word ; 
O no more thanks than might a goat have given 
With no more sign of reverence than a beard. 
And when we halted at that other well, 
And I was faint to swooning, and you lay 
Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those 
Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know 
That Vivien bathed your feet before her own? 
And yet no thanks : and all thro' this wild wood, 
And all this morning when I fondled you : 
Boon, ay, there was a boon, one not so strange — 
How had I wrong'd you? surely ye are wise. 
But such a silence is more wise than kind." 



Vf 



And JVlerhn lock'd his hand in hers and said : 
" O did ye never lie upon the shore. 
And watch the curl'd white of the coming wave 
Glass'd in the slippery sand before it breaks? 
Ev'n such a wave, but not so pleasurable. 
Dark in the glass of some presageful mood. 
Had I for three days seen, ready to fall. 
And then 1 rose and fled from Arthur's court 
To break the mood. You follow'd me unask'd ; 
And when I look'd, and saw you following still, 
My mind involved yourself the nearest thing 
In that mind-mist : for shall I tell you truth? 
You seem'd that wave about to break upon me 



^^^. 













And sweep me from my hold upon the world, 
My use and name and fame. Your pardon, child- 
Vour pretty sports have brightened all again. 
And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice, 
Once for wrong done you by confusiofi, next 
For thanks it seems till now neglected, last 
For these your dainty gambols : wherefore ask ; 
And take this boon so strange and not so 
strange." 



Yt 



fiy.^ 



And Vivien answer'd smiling mournfully : 
" O not so strange as my long asking it. 
Nor yet so strange as you yourself are strange, 
Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours. 
I ever fear'd ye were not wholly mine ; 
And see, yourself have own'd ye did me wrong, 
The people call you prophet : let it be : 
But not of those that can expound themselves. 
Take Vivien for expounder ; she will call 
That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours 
No presage, but the same mistrustful mood 
That makes you seem less noble than yourself. 
Whenever I have ask'd this very boon, 
Now ask'd again : for see you not, dear love. 
That such a mood as that, which lately gloom'd 
Your fancy when ye saw me following you. 
Must make me fear still more you are not mine. 
Must make me yearn still more to prove you 
mine. 



?^^<s^g==^ 




VIVIEN. 

And make me wish still more to learn this charm 
Of woven paces and of waving hands, 
As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach it me. 
The charm so taught will charm us both to 

rest. 
For, grant me some slight power upon your 

fate, 
1, feeling that you felt me worthy trust, 
Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine. 
And therefore be as great as ye are named. 
Not muffled round with selfish reticence. 
How hard you look and how denyingly ! 
O, if you think this wickedness in me, 
That I should prove it on you unawares. 
That makes me passing wrathful ; then our bond 
Had best be loosed forever: but think or not. 
By Heaven that hears I tell you the clean truth, 
As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk ; 
O Merlin, may this earth, if ever 1, 
If these unwitty wandering wits of mine, 
Ev'n in the jumbled rubbish of a dream, 
Have tript on such conjectural treachery — 
May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell 
Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat, 
If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon, 
Till which I scarce can yield you all I am ; 
And grant my re-reiterated wish. 
The great proof of your love : because I think. 
However wise, ye hardb; know me yet." 



72^^ 








(^^-c: 

iM 



And Merlin loosed 
said, 
" I never was less wise, however wise, 
Too curious Vivien, tho' you talk of trust, 
Than when I told you first of such a charm. 
Yea, if ye talk of trust I tell you this, 
Too much I trusted when I told you that. 
And stirrVl this vice in you which ruin'd man 
Thro' woman the first hour ; for howsoe'er 
In children a great curiousness be well, 
Who have to learn themselves and all the world, 
In you, that are no child, for still I find 
Your face is practised when I spell the lines, • 
I call it, — well, I will not call it vice: 
But since you name yourself the summer fly, 
I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat. 
That settles, beaten back, and beaten back 
Settles, till one could yield for weariness : 
But since I will not yield to give you power 
Upon my life and use and name and fame. 
Why will ye never ask some other boom ? 
Yea, by God's rood, I trusted you too much." 

And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid 
That ever bided tryst at village stile. 
Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears : 
" Nay, Master, be not wrathful with your maid, 
Caress her : let her feel herself forgiven 
Who feels no heart to ask another boon. 



(OfA-j 




m 



I think ye hardly know the tender rhyme 
Of ' trust me not at all or all in all.' 
I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once, 
And it shall answer for me. Listen to it. 

* In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, 
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers : 
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. 






f^O,' 



' It is the little rift within the lute, 
That by and by will make the music mute, 
And ever widening slowly silence all. 

' The little rift within the lover's lute 
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, 
That rotting inward slowly moulders all. 



lU 



N 



' It is not worth the keeping : let it go: 
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. 
And trust me not at all or all in all.' 

O Master, do ye love my tender rhyme?" 

And Merlin look'd and half believed her true, 
So tender was her voice, so fair her face. 
So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her tears 
Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower : 
And yet he answer'd half indignantly : 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 171 



I 






t^ii 



"J \r} 



D 



" Far other was the song that once I heard 
By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit : 
For here we met, some ten or twelve of us, 
To chase a creature that was current then 
In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns. 
It was the time when first the question rose 
About the founding of a Table Round, 
That was to be, for love of God and men 
And noble deeds, the flower of all the world. 
And each incited each to noble deeds. 
And while we waited, one, the youngest of us. 
We could not keep him silent, out he flash'd, 
And into such a song, such fire for fame, 
Such trumpet-blowings in it, coming down 
To such a stern and iron-clashing close. 
That when he stopt we long'd to hurl together. 
And should have done it ; but the beauteous beast 
Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet, 
And like a silver shadow slipt away 
Thro' the dim land ; and all day long we rode 
Thro' the dim land against a rushing wind, 
That glorious roundel echoing in our ears. 
And chased the flashes of his golden horns 
Until they vanished by the fairy well 
That laughs at iron — as our warriors did — 
Where children cast their pins and nails, and cry, 
' Laugh, little well ! ' but touch it with a sword, 
It buzzes fiercely round the point ; and there 
We lost him : such a noble song was that. 




But, Vivien, when 3'ou sang me that sweet rhyme, 
I feh as tho' you knew this cursed charm. 
Were proving it on me, and that I lay 
And felt them slowly ebbing, name and fame." 

And Vivien answer'd smiling mournfully : 
" O mine have ebb'd away for evermore, 
And all thro' following you to this wild wood. 
Because I saw you sad, to comfort you. 
Lo now, what hearts have men ! they never mount 
As high as woman in her selfless mood. 
And touching fame, however ye scorn my song. 
Take one verse more — the lady speaks it — this : 

" ' My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier 

mine. 
For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were 

thine. 
And shame, could shame be thine, that shame 

were mine. 
So trust me not at all or all in all.' 



" Says she not well? and there is more — this J 
rhyme 
Is like the fair pearl-necklace of the Queen, 
That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt ; \ 
Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept. 
But nevermore the same two sister pearls 
Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other 



IS 



u 



;s-2^3 





On her white neck — so is it with this rhyme : 

It Hves dispersedly in many hands, 

And every minstrel sings it differently ; 

Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls : 

' Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to 

love." 
Yea ! Love, tho' Love were of the grossest, carves 
A portion from the solid present, eats 
And uses, careless of the rest ; but Fame, 
The Fame that follows death is nothing to us ; 
And what is Fame in life but half-disfame, 
And counterchanged with darkness ? ye yourself 
Know well that Envy calls you Devil's son. 
And since ye seem the Master of all Art, 
They fain would make you Master of all vice." 

And Merlin lock'd his hand in hers and said, 
" I once was looking for a magic weed, 
And found a fair young squire who sat alone. 
Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood, 
And then was painting on it fancied arms. 
Azure, an Eagle rising or, the Sun 
In dexter chief; the scroll ' I follow fame.' 
And speaking not, but leaning over him, 
I took his brush and blotted out the bird, 
And made a Gardener putting in a graff. 
With this for motto, ' Rather use than fame.' 
You should have seen him blush ; but afterwards 
He made a stalwart knight. O Vivien, 





i 



1 ^N' 





For you, methinks you think you love me well ; 
For me, I love you somewhat ; rest : and Love 
Should have some rest and pleasure in himself, 
Not ever be too curious for a boon, 
Too prurient for a proof against the grain 
Of him ye say ye love : but Fame with men, 
Being but ampler means to serve mankind, 
Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, 
But work as vassal to the larger love, 
That dwarfs the petty love of one to one. 
Use gave me Fame at first, and Fame again 
Increasing gave me use. Lo, there my boon ! 
What other? for men sought to prove me vile, 
Because I fain had given them greater wits : 
And then did Envy call me DeviPs son : 
The sick weak beast seeking to help herself 
By striking at her better, miss'd, and brought 
Her own claw back, and wounded her own heart. 
Sweet were the days when I was all unknown. 
But when my name was lifted up, the storm 
Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. 
Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame, 
Yet needs must work my work. That other 

fame, 
To one at least, who hath not children, vague, 
The cackle of the unborn about the grave, 
I cared not for it : a single misty star. 
Which is the second in a line of stars 
That seem a sword beneath a belt of three, 



Mi 



p\ 



m 




m 






I never gazed upon it but I dreamt 

Of some vast charm concluded in that star 

To make fame nothing. Wherefore, if I fear, 

Giving you power upon me thro' this charm. 

That you might play me falsely, having power. 

However well ye think ye love me now 

(As sons of kings loving in pupilage 

Have turn'd to tyrants when they came to power) 

I rather dread the loss of use than fame ; 

If you — and not so much from wickedness, 

As some wild turn of anger, or a mood 

Of overstrain'd affection, it may be. 

To keep me all to your own self, — or else 

A sudden spurt of woman's jealousy, — 

Should try this charm on whom ye say ye love." 




I 



■/; Tj 



il^ 



And Vivien answer'd smiling as in wrath : 
" Have I not sworn? I am not trusted. Good! 
Well, hide it, hide it ; I shall find it out ; 
And being found take heed of Vivien. 
A woman and not trusted, doubtless I 
Might feel some sudden turn of anger born 
Of your misfaith ; and your fine epithet 
Is accurate too, for this full love of mine 
Without the full heart back may merit well 
Your term of overstrain'd. So used as I. 
My daily wonder is, I love at all. 
And as to woman's jealousy, O why not ? 
O to what end, except a jealous one. 





And one to make me jealous if I love, 
Was this fair charm invented by yourself ? 
I well believe that all about this world 
Ye cage a buxom captive here and there. 
Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower 
From which is no escape for evermore." 

Then the great Master merrily answered her : 
" Full many a love in loving youth was mine ; 
I needed then no charm to keep them mine 
But youth and love ; and that full heart of yours 
Whereof ye prattle, may now assure you mine ; 
So hve uncharm'd. For those who wrought it 

first. 
The wrist is parted from the hand that waved, 
The feet unmortised from their ankle-bones 
Who paced it, ages back : but will ye hear 
The legend as in guerdon for your rhyme ? 



'PA 



t 



" There lived a king in the most Eastern East, 
Less old than I, yet older, for my blood 
Hath earnest in it of far springs to be. 
A tawny pirate anchored in his port. 
Whose bark had plundered twenty nameless isles ; 
And passing one, at the high peep of dawn, 
He saw two cities in a thousand boats 
All fighting for a woman on the sea. 
And pushing his black craft among them all, 
He lightly scattered theirs and brought her off, 







m 






f 



MERLIM AiXD VIVIEN. i"]-] 

With loss of half his people arrow-slain ; 

A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful, 

They said a light came from her when she moved : 

And since the pirate would not yield her up. 

The King impaled him for his piracy ; 

Then made her Queen : but those isle-nurtured 

eyes 
Waged such unwilling tho' successful war 
On all the youth, they sicken'd ; councils thinn"d. 
And armies waned, for magnet-like she drew 
The rustiest iron of old fighters' hearts ; 
And beasts themselves would worship ; camels 

knelt 
Unbidden, and the brutes of mountain back 
That carry kings in castles, bow'd black knees 
Of homage, ringing with their serpent hands, 
To make her smile, her golden ankle-bells. 
What wonder, being jealous, that he sent 
His horns of proclamation out thro' all 
The hundred under-kingdoms that he sway'd 
To find a wizard who might teach the King 
Some charm, which being wrought upon the 

Queen 
Might keep her all his own : to such a one 
He promised more than ever king has given, 
A league of mountain full of golden mines, 
A province with a hundred miles of coast, 
A palace and a princess, all for him : 
But on all those who tried and faiPd, the King 



J) ::=>" 








Pronounced a dismal sentence, meaning by it 
To keep the list low and pretenders back, 
Or like a king, not to be trifled with — 
Their heads should moulder on the city gates. 
And many tried and faiPd, because the charm 
Of nature in her overbore their own : 
And many a wizard brow bleach'd on the walls : 
And many weeks a troop of carrion crows 
Hung like a cloud above the gateway towers." 

And Vivien breaking in upon him, said : 
" I sit and gather honey; yet, methinks. 
Thy tongue has tript a little : ask thyself. 
The lady never made univilling war 
With those fine eyes : she had her pleasure in it. 
And made her good man jealous with good cause. 
And lived there neither dame nor damsel then 
Wroth at a lover's loss ? were all as tame, 
I mean, as noble, as their Queen was fair? 
Not one to flirt a venom at her eyes. 
Or pinch a murderous dust into her drink, 
Or make her paler with a poisoned rose? 
Well, those were not our days : but did they find 
A wizard? Tell me, was he like to thee?" 

She ceased, and made lier lithe arm round his 
neck 
Tighten, and then drew back, and let her eyes 
Speak for her, glowing on him, like a bride's 
On her new lord, her own, the first of men. 



wTS^, 





n 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 179 

He answerVl laughing, '• Nay, not like to me. 
At last they found — his foragers for charms — 
A little glassy-headed hairless man, 
Who lived alone in a great wild on grass ; 
Read but one book, and ever reading grew 
So grated down and filed away with thought. 
So lean his eyes were monstrous ; while the skin 
Clung but to crate and basket, ribs and spine. 
And since he kept his mind on one sole aim. 
Nor ever touch'd fierce wine, nor tasted flesh. 
Nor own'd a sensual wish, to him the wall 
That sunders ghosts and shadow-casting men 
Became a crystal, and he saw them thro' it, 
And lieard their voices talk behind the wall. 
And learnt their elemental secrets, powers 
And forces ; often o'er the sun's bright eye 
Drew the vast eyelid of an inky cloud. 
And lash'd it at the base with slanting storm ; 
Or in the noon of mist and driving rain. 
When the lake whiten'd and the pinewood roar'd. 
And the cairn'd mountain was a shadow, sunn'd 
The world to peace again : here was the man. 
And so by force they dragg'd him to the King. 
And then he taught the King to charm the Queen 
In such-wise, that no man could see her more. 
Nor saw she save the King, who wrought t!ie 

charm, 
Coming and going, and she lay as dead, 
And lost all use of life : but when the Kins 



\l 







VIVIEN. 

Made proffer of the league of golden mines, 
The province with a hundred miles of coast, 
The palace and the princess, that old man 
Went back to his old wild, and lived on grass, 
And vanish'd, and his book came down to me." 



i\ 



And Vivien answer'd smiling saucily : 
" Ye have the book : the charm is written in it : 
Good : take my counsel : let me know it at once : 
For keep it like a puzzle chest in chest, 
With each chest lock'd and padlocked thirty-fold, 
And whelm all this beneath as vast a mound 
As after furious battle turfs the slain 
On some wild down above the windy deep, 
I yet should strike upon a sudden means 
To dig, pick, open, find and read the charm : 
Then, if I tried it, who should blame me then? " 



And smiling as a master smiles at one 
That is not of his school, nor any school 
But that where blind and naked Ignorance 
Delivers brawling judgments, unashamed. 
On all thinsfs all dav long, he answer'd her : 



" Thou read the book, my pretty Vivien! 
O ay, it is but twenty pages long. 
But every page having an ample marge. 
And every marge enclosing in the midst 
A square of text that looks a little blot, 





The text no larger than the limbs of fleas ; 
And every square of text an awful charm, 
Writ in a language that has long gone by. 
So long, that mountains have arisen since 
With cities on their flanks — thou read the book ! 
And every margin scribbled, crost, and cramm'd 
With comment, densest condensation, hard 
To mind and eye ; but the long sleepless nights 
Of my long life have made it easy to me. 
And none can read the text, not even I ; 
And none can read the comment but myself; 
And in the comment did I find the charm. 
O, the results are simple ; a mere child 
Might use it to the harm of any one, 
And never could undo it : ask no more : 
For tho' you should not prove it upon me. 
But keep that oath ye sware, ye might, perchance. 
Assay it on some one of the Table Round. 
And all because ye dream they babble of you." 



And Vivien, frowning in true anger, said : 
" What dare the full-fed liars say of me? 
TJiey ride abroad redressing human wrongs ! 
They sit with knife in meat and wine in horn ! 
They bound to holy vows of chastity ! 
Were I not woman, I could tell a tale. 
But you are man, you well can understand 
The shame that cannot be explain'd for shame. 
Not one of all the drove should touch me : 



XU 




MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

Then answered .Merlin careless of her words : 
•• You breathe but accusation vast and vague, 
Spleen-born, I think, and proofless. If ye know, 
Set up the charge ye know, to stand or fall ! "' 

And Vivien answered frowning wrathfully : 
" O ay, what say ye to Sir Valence, him 
Whose kinsman left him watcher o'er his wife 
And two fair babes, and went to distant lands ; 
Was one year gone, and on returning found 
Not two but three ? there lay the reckling, one 
But one hour old ! What said the happy sire? 
A seven-months' babe had been a truer gift. 
Those twelve sweet moons confused his father- 
hood." 




w 



Then answer'd Merlin, " Nay, I know the tale. 
Sir Valence wedded with an outland dame : 
Some cause had kept him sunder'd from his wife : 
One child they had : it lived with her : she died : 
His kinsman travelling on his own affair 
Was charged by Valence to bring home the 

child. 
He brought, not found it therefore : take the 

truth."' 



" O ay," said Vivien, •' overtrue a tale. 
What say ye then to sweet Sir Sagramore, 
That ardent man ? ' to pluck the flower in season,' ^ 




.?>>> 



m 

Pi 



4 ) 



;^3! 






So says the song, ' I trow it is no treason.' 

Master, shall we call him overquick 

To crop his own sweet rose before the hour ? " 

And Merlin answer'd, " Overquick art thou 
To catch a loathly plume falPn from the wing 
Of that foul bird of rapine whose whole prey 
Is man's good name : he never wrong'd his bride. 

1 know the tale. An angry gust of wind 
Puff'd out his torch among the myriad-room'd 
And many-corridor'd complexities 

Of Arthur's palace : then he found a door. 
And darkling felt the sculptured ornament 
That wreathen round if made it seem his own ; 
And wearied out made for the couch and slept, 
A stainless man beside a stainless maid ; 
And either slept, nor knew of other there ; 
Till the high dawn piercing the royal rose 
In Arthur's casement glimmer'd chastely down. 
Blushing upon them blushing, and at once 
He rose without a word and parted from her : 
But when the thing was blazed about the court. 
The brute world howling forced them into bonds, 
And as it chanced they are happy, being pure."' 

" O ay," said Vivien, •' that were likely too. 
What say ye then to fair Sir Percivale 
And of the horrid foulness that he wrought. 
The saintly youth, the spotless lamb of Christ, 





1S4 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

Or some black wether of St. Satan's fold. 
What, in the precincts of the chapel-yard, 
Among the knightly brasses of the graves, 
And by the cold Hie Jacets of the dead ! " 



And Merlin answer'd careless of her charge, 
" A sober man is Percivale and pure ; 
But once in life was liuster'd with new wine. 
Then paced for coolness in the chapel-yard ; 
Where one of Satan's shepherdesses caught 
And meant to stamp him with her master's mark ; 
And that he sinn'd is not believable ; 
For. look upon his face I — but if he sinn'd, 
The sin that practice burns into the blood. 
And not the one dark hour which brings remorse, 
Will brand us, after, of whose fold we be : 
Or else were he, the holy king, whose hymns 
Are chanted in the minster, worse than all. 
But is your spleen froth'd out, or have ye more? " 

And Vivien answer'd frowning yet in wrath : 
" O ay; what say ye to Sir Lancelot, friend, 
Traitor or true? that commerce with the Queen, 
I ask you, is it clamor'd by the child. 
Or whisper'd in the corner? do ye know it?" 

To which he answerd sadly, " Yea, I know it. 
Sir Lancelot went ambassador, at first, 
To fetch her, and she watch'd him from her 

walls. 



^^i^^ii^g^ 




MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 



4 



i\ 



A rumor runs, she took him for the King, 

So fixt her fancy on him : let them be. 

But have ye no one word of loyal praise 

For Arthur, blameless King and stainless man ? " 

She answer'd with a low and chuckling laugh : 
" Man! is he man at all, who knows and winks? 
Sees what his fair bride is and does, and winks? 
B}- which the good King means to blind himself, 
And blinds himself and all the Table Round 
To all the foulness that they work. Myself 
Could call him (were it not for womanhood) 
The pretty, popular name such manhood earns. 
Could call him the main cause of all their crime ; 
Yea, were he not crown'd King, coward, and 
fool." 

Then Merlin to his own heart, loathing, said : 
' O true and tender ! O my liege and King ! 
O selfless man and stainless gentleman, 
Who wouldst against thine own eye-witness fain 
Have all men true and leal, all women pure ; 
How, in the mouths of base interpreters. 
From over-fineness not intelligible 
To things with every sense as false and foul 
As the poach'd filth that floods the middle street. 
Is thy white blamelessness accounted blame ! " 

But Vivien, deeming Merlin overborne 
By instance, recommenced, and let her tongue 





1 86 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

Rage like a fire among the noblest names, 
Polluting, and imputing her whole self. 
Defaming and defacing, till she left 
Not even Lancelot brave, nor Galahad clean. 

Her words had issue other than she will'd. 
He dragg'd his eyebrow bushes down, and made 
A snowy penthouse for his hollow eyes. 
And mutter'd in himself, " Tell her the charm ! 
So, if she had it, would she rail on me 
To snare the next, and if she have it not 
So will she rail. What did the wanton say? 
' Not mount as high ; ' we scarce can sink as low : 
For men at most differ as Heaven and earth, 
But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell. 
I know the Table Round, my friends of old ; 
All brave, and many generous, and some chaste. 
She cloaks the scar of some repulse with lies ; 
I well believe she tempted them and fail'd. 
Being so bitter : for fine plots may fail, 
Tho' harlots paint their talk as well as face 
With colors of the heart that are not theirs. 
I will not let her know : nine tithes of times 
Face-fiatterer and backbiter are the same. 
And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime 
Are pronest to it, and impute themselves, 
Wanting the mental range ; or low desire 
Not to feel lowest makes them level all ; 
Yea, they would pare the mountain to the plain. 



^j 






Kti 







m 



J! 



J 



To leave an equal baseness ; and in this 
Are harlots like the crowd, that if they find 
Some stain or blemish in a name of note, 
Not grieving that their greatest are so small, 
Inflate themselves with some insane delight, 
And judge all nature from her feet of clay. 
Without the will to lift their eyes, and see 
Her godlike head crown'd with spiritual fire. 
And touching other worlds. I am weary of her." 

He spoke in words part heard, in whispers 

part, 
Half-suffocated in the hoary fell 
And many-winter'd fleece of throat and chin. 
But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood. 
And hearing " harlot" mutter'd twice or thrice, 
Leapt from her session on his lap, and stood 
StiflFas a viper frozen ; loathsome sight, 
How from the rosy lips of life and love, 
Flash'd the bare-grinning skeleton of death ! 
White was her cheek ; sharp breaths of anger 

puflf^d 
Her fairy nostril out ; her hand half-clench"d 
Went faltering sideways downward to her belt, 
And feeling ; had she found a dagger there 
(For in a wink the false love turns to hate) 
She would have stabb'd him ; but she found it 

not : 
His eye was calm, and suddenly she took 




i'l 



ILJ 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

To bitter weeping like a beaten child, 
A long, long weeping, not consolable. 
Then her false voice made way, broken with 
■ sobs : 

" O crueller than was ever told in tale, 
Or sung in song ! O vainly lavish'd love ! 

cruel, there was nothing wild or strange. 

Or seeming shameful — for what shame in love. 
So love be true, and not as yours is — nothing 
Poor Vivien had not done to win his trust 
Who call'd her what he call'd her — all her 

crime. 
All — all — the wish to prove him wholly hers."' 

She mused a little, and then clapt her hands 
Together with a wailing shriek, and said : 
" Stabb'd through the heart's affections to the 

heart ! 
Seethed like the kid in its own mother's milk ! 
Kill'd with a word worse than a life of blows ! 

1 thought that he was gentle, being great : 

God, that I had loved a smaller man ! 

1 should have found in him a greater heart. 
O, I, that flattering my true passion, saw 

The knights, the court, the King, dark in your 

light, 
Who loved to make men darker than they are. 
Because of that high pleasure which I had 






^ 



?e^j 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 



PI 



•:cl»; 






f 







To seat you sole upon my pedestal 

Of worship — I am answered, and henceforth 

The course of life that seem'd so flowery to me 

With you for guide and master, only you. 

Becomes the sea-cliff pathway broken short, 

And ending in a ruin — nothing left. 

But into some low cave to crawl, and there, 

If the wolf spare me, weep my life away, 

Kiird with inutterable unkindliness." 

She paused, she turn'd away, she hung her 
head, 
The snake of gold slid from her hair, the braid 
Slipt and uncoil'd itself, she wept afresh. 
And the dark wood grew darker toward the storm 
In silence, while his anger slowly died 
Within him, till he let his wisdom go 
For ease of heart, and half believed her true : 
Caird her to shelter in the hollow oak, 
" Come from the storm," and having no reply. 
Gazed at the heaving shoulder, and the face 
Hand-hidden, as for utmost grief or shame ; 
Then thrice essay"d, by tenderest-touching terms. 
To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain. 
At last she let herself be conquered by him, 
And as the cageling newly flown returns. 
The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing 
Came to her old perch back, and settled there. 
There while she sat, half-falling from his knees. 



i^:ilJ 




72^5 




'o^ 



•:c!)- 



Half-nestled at his heart, and since he saw 
The slow tear creep from her closed eyelids yet, 
About her, more in kindness than in love. 
The gentle wizard cast a shielding arm. 
But she dislink'd herself at once and rose. 
Her arms upon her breast across, and stood, 
A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wrong'd. 
Upright and flush'd before him : then she said : 



H 






" There must be now no passages of love 
Betwixt us twain henceforward evermore ; 
Since, if I be what I am grossly call'd. 
What should be granted which your own gross 

heart 
Would reckon worth the taking? I will go. 
In truth, but one thing now — better have died 
Thrice than have ask'd it once — could make me 

stay — 
That proof of trust — so often ask'd in vain ! 
How justly, after that vile term of yours, 
I find with grief ! I might believe you then. 
Who knows? once more. Lo ! what was once 

to me 
Mere matter of the fancy, now hath grown 
The vast necessity of heart and life. 
Farewell ; think gently of me, for I fear 
My fate or folly, passing gayer youth 
For one so old, must be to love thee still. 
But ere I leave thee let me swear once moise 



i 



^ 











'0) 

(Ml 






f 



MERLiy AXD ririEX. 



That if I schemed against thy peace in this, 
May yon just heaven, that darkens o'er me, send 
One flash, that, missing all things else, may make 
My scheming brain a cinder, if I lie.'" 

Scarce had she ceased, when out of heaven a 

bolt 
(For now the storm was close above them) struck, 
Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining 
With darted spikes and splinters of the wood 
The dark earth round. He raised his eyes and 

saw 
The tree that shone white-listed thro' the gloom. 
But Vivien, fearing heaven had heard her oath. 
And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork. 
And deafen'd with the stammering cracks and 

claps 
That followed, flying back and crying out, 
" O Merlin, tho' you do not love me, save. 
Yet save me ! '' clung to him and hugg'd him close ; 
And caird him dear protector in her fright, 
Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright. 
But wrought upon his mood and hugg'd him close. 
The pale blood of the wizard at her touch 
Took gayer colors, like an opal warm'd. 
She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales : 
She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept 
Of petulancy ; she call'd him lord and liege. 
Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve. 




^^::^^:^S^ 




Her God, her Merlin, the one passionate love 

Of her whole life ; and ever overhead 

Bellowed the tempest, and the rotten branch 

Snapt in the rushing of the river-rain 

Above them ; and in change of glare and gloom 

Her eyes and neck glittering went and came ; 

Till now the storm, its burst of passion spent, 

Moaning and calling out of other lands, 

Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more 

To peace ; and what should not have been had 

been. 
For Merlin, overtalk'd and overworn. 
Had yielded, told hef all the charm, and slept. 

Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm 
Of woven paces and of waving hands. 
And in the hollow oak he lay as dead, 
And lost to life and use and name and fame. 

Then crying " I have made his glory mine," 
And shrieking out " O fool !"' the harlot leapt 
Adown the forest, and the thicket closed 
Behind her, and the forest echo'd *' fool." 







- W 



— -' ■ CC', 




LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 193 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 



Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, 

Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, 

High in her chamber up a tower to the east 

Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; 

W'liich first she placed where morning's earliest 

ray 
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam ; 
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it 
A case of silk, and braided thereupon 
All the devices blazon'd on the shield 
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, 
A border fantasy of branch and flower. 
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. 
Nor rested thus content, but day by day. 
Leaving her household and good father, climb'd 
That eastern tower, and entering barr'd her door, 
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, 
Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms. 
Now made a pretty history to herself 
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, 
And every scratch a lance had made upon it. 
Conjecturing when and where : this cut is fresh ; 




^5r2^3 




That ten years back ; this dealt him at Caerlyle ; 
That at Caerleon ; this at Camelot : 
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there ! 
And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God 
Broke the strong lance, and roll'd his enemy 

down, 
And saved him : so she lived in fantasy. 



How came the lily maid by that good shield 
Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name? 
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt 
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts. 
Which Arthur had ordain'd, and by that name 
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize. 

For Arthur, long before they crown'd him King, 
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse, 
Had found a glen, gray bowlder and black tarn. 
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave 
Like its own mists to all the mountain side : 
For here two brothers, one a king, had met 
And fought together ; but their names were lost ; 
And each had slain his brother at a blow ; 
And down they fell and made the glen abhorr'd : 
And there they lay till all their bones were 

bleach'd. 
And lichen'd into color with the crags : 
And he, that once was king, had on a crown 
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside. 



\ 



LAXCELOT AND ELAINE. 195 

And Arthur came, and laboring up the pass, 

All in a misty moonshine, unawares 

Had trodden that crown'd skeleton, and the 

skull 
Brake from the nape, and from the skull the 

crown 
Roird into light, and turning on its rims 
Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn : 
And down the shingly scaur he plunged, and 

caught. 
And set it on his head, and in his heart 
Heard murmurs, " Lo, thou likewise shalt be 

Kins." 



Thereafter, when a King, he had the gems 
Pluck'd from the crown, and show'd them to his 

knights, 
Saying, " These jewels, whereupon I chanced 
Divinely, are the kingdom's, not the King's — 
For public use : henceforward let there be. 
Once every year, a joust for one of these : 
For so by nine years' proof we needs must learn 
Which is our mightiest, and ourselves shall grow 
In use of arms and manhood, till we drive 
The heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land 
Hereafter, which God hinder." Thus he spoke : 
And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and 

still 
Had Lancelot won the diamond of the vear, 






With purpose to present them to the Queen, 
When all were won ; but meaning all at once 
To snare her royal fancy with a boon 
Worth half her realm, had never spoken word. 



Now for the central diamond and the last 
And largest, Arthur, holding then his court 
Hard on the river nigh the place which now 
Is this world's hugest, let proclaim a joust 
At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh 
Spake (for she had been sick) to Guinevere, 
" Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move 
To these fair jousts?" "Yea, lord," she said, 

" ye know it." 
"Then will ye miss," he answer'd, "the great 

deeds 
Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists, 
A sight ye love to look on." And the Queen 
Lifted her eves, and they dwelt languidly 
On Lancelot, where he stood beside the King. 
He thinking that he read her meaning there, 
" Stay with me, I am sick ; my love is more 
Than many diamonds," yielded ; and a heart 
Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen 
( However much he yearn'd to make complete 
The tale of diamonds for his destined boon) 
Urged him to speak against the truth, and say, 
" Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly 

whole, 



5i 



LA.VCELOT AA'-D ELAINE. 197 

And lets me from the saddle ; " and the King 
Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way. 
No sooner gone than suddenly she began : 

" To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to 
blame ! 
Why go ye not to these fair jousts ? the knights 
Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd 
Will murmur, ' Lo the shameless ones, who take 
Their pastime now the trustful King is gone ! ' "' 
Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain : 
" Are ye so wise? ye were not once so wise. 
My Queen, that summer, when ye loved me 

first. 
Then of the crowd ye took no more account 
Than of the myriad cricket of the mead. 
When its own voice clings to each blade of grass. 
And every voice is nothing. As to knights, 
Them surely can I silence with all ease. 
But now my loyal worship is allow'd 
Of all men : many a bard, without offence, 
Has link'd our names together in his lay, 
Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere, 
The pearl of beauty : and our knights at feast 
Have pledged us in this union, while the King 
Would listen smiling. How then ? is there more ? 
Has Arthur spoken aught.? or would yourself. 
Now weary of my service and devoir. 
Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord .? " 



7?n^\ 




LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 



She broke into a little scornful laugh : 
" Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King, 
That passionate perfection, my good lord — 
But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven ? 
He never spake word of reproach to me, 
He never had a glimpse of mine untruth. 
He cares not for me : only here to-day 
There gleam'd a vague suspicion in his eyes : 
Some meddling rogue has tamper'd with him — 

else 
Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round, 
And swearing men to vows impossible, 
To make them like himself: but, friend, to me 
He is all fault who hath no fault at all : 
For who loves me must have a touch of earth ; 
The low sun makes the color : I am yours. 
Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the bond. 
And therefore hear my words : go to the 

jousts : 
The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream 
When sweetest ; and the vermin voices here 
May buzz so loud — we scorn them, but they 

sting;/' 



n 



Then answer'd Lancelot, the chief of knights 
" And with what face, after my pretext made, 
Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I 
Before a King who honors his own word, 
As if it were his God's?" 





^ 



" Yea," said the Queen, 
" A moral child without the craft to rule, 
Else had he not lost me : but listen to me, 
If I must find you wit : we hear it said 
That men go down before your spear at a touch. 
But knowing you are Lancelot; your great name, 
This conquers : hide it therefore ; go unknown : 
Win ! by this kiss you will : and our true King 
Will then allow your pretext, O my knight. 
As all for glory ; for to speak him true. 
Ye know right well, how meek soe'er he seem, 
No keener hunter after glory breathes. 
He loves it in his knights more than himself: 
They prove to him his work : win and return." 

Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse. 
Wroth at himself. Not willing to be known, 
He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare. 
Chose the green path that show'd the rarer foot, 
And there among the solitary downs. 
Full often lost in fancy, lost his way ; 
Till as he traced a faintly-shadow'd track. 
That all in loops and links among the dales 
Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw 
Fired from the west, far on a hill, the towers. 
Thither he made, and blew the gateway horn. 
Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man, 
Who let him into lodging and disarmed. 
And Lancelot marvelPd at the wordless man ; 



mLL 




And issuing found the Lord of Astolat 
With two strong sons. Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine, 
Moving to meet him in tlie castle court ; 
And close behind them stept the lily maid 
Elaine, his daughter : mother of the house 
There was not : some light jest among them_ rose 
With laughter dying down as the great knight 
Approach'd them : then the Lord of Astolat : 
" Whence comest thou, my guest, and by what 

name 
Livest between the lips ? for by thy state 
And presence I might guess thee chief of those. 
After the King, who eat in Arthur's halls. 
Him have I seen : the rest, his Table Round, 
Known as they are, to me they are unknown." 

Then answer'd Lancelot, the chief of knights : 
" Known am L and of Arthur's hall, and known, 
What I by mere mischance have brought, my 

shield. 
But since I go to joust as one unknown 
At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not, 
Hereafter ye shall know me — and the shield — 
I pray you lend me one, if such you have, 
Blank, or at least with some device not mine." 

Then said the Lord of Astolat. " Here is 
Torre's ; 
Hurt in his first tilt was my son. Sir Torre, 




I 




And so, God wot, his shield is blank enough. 
His ye can have." Then added plain Sir 

Torre, 
" Yea, since I cannot use it, ye may have it." 
Here laugh'd the father, saying, " Fie, Sir Churl. 
Is that an answer for a noble knight? 
Allow him ! but Lavaine, my younger here. 
He is so full of lustihood, he will ride, 
Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an hour. 
And set it in this damsel's golden hair. 
To make her thrice as wilful as before." 



" Nay, father, nay good father, shame me not 
Before this noble knight," said young Lavaine, 
" For nothing. Surely I but play'd on Torre : 
He seem'd so sullen, vext he could not go : 
A jest, no more ! for, knight, the maiden 
' dreamt 

That some one put this diamond in her hand. 
And that it was too slippery to be held, 
And slipt and fell into some pool or stream, 
The castle-well, belike ; and then I said 
That if I went and if I fought and won it 
(But all was jest and joke among«ourselves) 
Then must she keep it safelier. All was j,est. 
But, father, give me leave, an if he will, 
To ride to Camelot with this noble knight : 
Win shall I not, but do my best to win : 
Young as I am, yet would I do my best." 




2 02 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

" So ye will grace me," answerd Lancelot, 
Smiling a moment, " with your fellowship 
O'er these waste downs whereon I lost myself. 
Then were I glad of you as guide and friend : 
And you shall win this diamond, — as I hear 
It is a fair large diamond, — if ye may. 
And yield it to this maiden, if ye will." 
*• A fair large diamond," added plain Sir Torre, 
" Such be for queens, and not for simple maids." 
Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground, 
Elaine, and heard her name so tost about, 
Flush'd slightly at the slight disparagement 
Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her, 
Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus return'd : 
•' If what is fair be but for what is fair. 
And only queens are to be counted so, 
Rash were my judgment then, who deem this 

maid 
Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth. 
Not violating: the bond of like to like." 



t 



S; 



He spoke and ceased : the lily maid Elaine, 
Won by the mellow voice before she look'd. 
Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments. 
The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, 
In battle with the love he bare his lord, 
Had marr'd his face, and mark'd it ere his time. 
Another sinning on such heights with one. 
The flower of all the west and all the world, 



^ 



l^y 

n- 







(I: e 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 203 lO. 



Had been the sleeker for it : but in him 
His mood was often like a fiend, and rose 
And drove him into wastes and solitudes 
For agony, who was yet a living soul. 
Marr'd as he was, he seem'd the goodliest man 
That ever among ladies ate in hall, 
And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. 
However marr'd, of more than twice her years, 
Seam'd with an ancient swordcut on the cheek. 
And bruised and bronzed, ^he lifted up her eyes 
And loved him, with that love which was her 
doom. 

Then the great knight, the darling of the court. 
Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall 
Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain 
Hid under grace, as in a smaller time. 
But kindly man moving among his kind : 
Whom they with meats and vintage of their best 
And talk and minstrel melody entertain'd. 
And much they ask'd of court and Table Round, 
And ever well and readily answer'd he : 
But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere, 
Suddenly speaking of the wordless man. 
Heard from the Baron that, ten years before. 
The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue. 
" He learnt and warnVl me of their fierce design 
Against my house, and him they caught and 
maim'd ; 



,-, :.iili: -"111. _Z~rr=j=3» -^vr_'0 . / 



204 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

But I, my sons, and little daughter fled 

From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods 

By the great river in a boatman's hut. 

Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke 

The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill." 



,0^ 



i\ 




" O there, great lord, doubtless," Lavaine said, 

rapt 
By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth 
Toward greatness in its elder, " You have fought. 
O tell us — for we live apart — you know 
Of Arthur's glorious wars." And Lancelot spoke 
And answer'd him at full, as having been 
With Arthur in the fight which all day long 
Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem ; 
And in the four loud battles by the shore 
Of Duglas ; that on Bassa ; then the war 
That thunder'd in and out the gloomy skirts 
Of Cehdon the forest ; and again 
By castle Gurnion, where the glorious King 
Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's Head. 
Carved of one emerald centred in a sun 
Of silver rays, that lightened as he breathed ; 
And at Caerleon had he help'd his lord, 
When the strong ncighings of the wild white 

Horse 
Set every gilded parapet shuddering ; 
And up in Agned-Cathregonion too, 
And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit, 



I 



h 



?2^i 




pj 






Where many a heathen fell ; " and on the mount 
Of Badon I myself beheld the King 
Charge at the head of all his Table Round, 
And all his legions crying Christ and him, 
And break them ; and I saw him, after, stand 
High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume 
Red as the rising sun with heathen blood. 
And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, 
' They are broken, they are broken ! ' for the 

King, 
However mild he seems at home, nor cares 
For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts — 
For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs 
Saying, his knights are better men than he — 
Yet in this heathen war the fire of God 
Fills him : I never saw his like : there lives 
No a:reater leader." 



f 



While he utter'd this. 
Low to her own heart said the lily maid, 
' ' Save your great self, fair lord ; " and when 

fell 
From talk of war to traits of pleasantry — 
Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind — 
She still took note that when the living smile 
Died from his lips, across him came a cloud 
Of melancholy severe, from which again. 
Whenever in her hovering to and fro 
The lily maid had striven to make him cheer. 







206 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 



viy. 






il 



m 



f ' c' 



There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness 
Of manners and of nature : and she thought 
That all was nature, all, perchance, for her. 
And all night long his face before her lived, 
As when a painter, poring on a face. 
Divinely thro' all hindrance finds the man 
Behind it, and so paints him that his face. 
The shape and color of a mind and life. 
Lives for his children, ever at its best 
And fullest ; so the face before her lived. 
Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full 
Of noble things, and held her from her sleep. 
Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the thought 
She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine. 
First as in fear, step after step, she stole 
Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating : 
Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court, 
"This shield, my friend, where is it?" and 

Lavaine 
Past inward, as she came from out the tower. 
There to his proud horse Lancelot turn'd, and 

smooth'd 
The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. 
Half-envious of the flattering hand, slie drew 
Nearer and stood. He looked, and more amazed 
Than if seven men had set upon him, saw 
The maiden standing in the dewy light. 
He had not dream'd she was so beautiful. 
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear. 



i 






I 





For silent, tho' he greeted her, she stood 
Rapt on his face as if it were a God's. 
Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire, 
That he should wear her favor at the tilt. 
She braved a riotous heart in asking for it. 
" Fair lord, whose name I know not — noble it is, 
I well believe, the noblest — wall you wear 
My fav'or at this tourney? " " Nay," said he, 
" Fair lady, since I never yet have worn 
Favor of any lady in tlie lists. 
Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know." 
" Yea, so," she answer'd ; " then in wearing mine 
Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord, 
That those who know should know you." And 

he turnVl 
Her counsel up and down within his mind, 
And found it true, and answer'd, "True, my 

child. 
Well, I will wear it : fetch it out to me : 
What is it?" and she told him " A red sleeve 
Broider'd with pearls," and brought it : then he 

bound 
Her token on his helmet, with a smile 
Saying, " I never yet have done so much 
For any maiden living," and the blood 
Sprang to her face and fill'd her with delight ; 
But left her all the paler, when Lavaine 
Returning brought the yet-unblazon'd shield. 
His brother's ; which he gave to Lancelot, 




// 



Who parted with his own to fair Elaine : 

"Do me this grace, my child, to have my 

shield 
In keeping till I come." " A grace to me," 
She answer'd, " twice to-day. I am your squire ! " 
Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, "Lily maid, 
For fear our people call you lily maid 
In earnest, let me bring your color back ; 
Once, twice, and thrice : now get you hence to 

bed : " 
So kiss'd her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand, 
And thus they moved away : she stay'd a minute. 
Then made a sudden step to the gate, and 

there — 
Her bright hair blown about the serious face 
Yet rosy-kindled with her brother's kiss — 
Paused by the gateway, standing near the shield 
In silence, while she watch"d their arms far-off 
Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs. 
Then to her tower she climb'd, and took the 

shield. 
There kept it, and so lived in fantasy. 



Meanwhile the new companions past away 
Far o"er the long backs of the bushless downs. 
To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a 

knight 
Not far from Camelot, now for forty years 
A hermit, who had pray'd, labor'd and pray'd. 



And ever laboring had scoop'd himself 
In the white rock a chapel and a hall 
On massive columns, like a shoreclilT cave, 
And cells and chambers : all were fair and dry ; 
The green light from the meadows underneath 
Struck up and lived along the milky roofs ; 
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees 
And poplars made a noise of falling showers. 
And thither wending there that night they bode. 



)) ,:>' 



But when the next day broke from under- 
ground. 
And shot red fire and shadows thro' the cave, 
They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode 

away : 
Then Lancelot saying, " Hear, but hold my 

name 
Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake," 
Abash'd Lavaine, whose instant reverence. 
Dearer to true young hearts than their own 

praise. 
But left him leave to stammer, " Is it indeed?" 
And after muttering '• The great Lancelot," 
At last he got his breath and answerVl, " One, 
One have I seen — that other, our liege lord. 
The dread Pendragon, Britain's King of kings. 
Of whom the people talk mysteriousl}-. 
He will be there — then were I stricken blind 
That minute, I might say that I had seen." 





So spake Lavaine, and when they reach'd the 
lists 
By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes 
Run thro' the peopled gallery which half round 
Lay like a rainbow faH'n upon the grass, 
Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat 
Robed in red samite, easily to be known, 
Since to his crown the golden dragon clung. 
And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold, 
And from the carven-work behind him crept 
Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make 
Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them 
Thro' knots and loops and folds innumerable 
Fled ever thro* the woodwork, till they found 
The new design wherein they lost themselves. 
Yet with all ease, so tender was the work : 
And, in the costly canopy o'er him set. 
Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king. 



\ 



*,■..•;/ 



Then Lancelot answer'd young Lavaine and 

said, 
" Me you call great : mine is the firmer seat. 
The truer lance : but there is many a youth 
Now crescent, who will come to all I am 
And overcome it ; and in me there dwells 
No greatness, save it be some far-oiF touch 
Of greatness to know well I am not great : 
There is the man." And Lavaine gaped upon 

him 




As on a thing miraculous, and anon 
The trumpets blew ; and then did either side, 
They that assaiPd, and they that held the lists, 
Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move, 
Meet in the midst, and there so furiously 
Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive. 
If any man that day were left afield. 
The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms. 
And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw 
Which were the weaker ; then he hurl'd into it 
Against the stronger : little need to speak 
Of Lancelot in his glory ! King, duke, earl. 
Count, baron — whom he smote, he overthrew. 



in 



But in the field were Lancelot's kith and kin. 
Ranged with the Table Round that held the 

lists. 
Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight 
Should do and almost overdo the deeds 
Ot Lancelot ; and one said to the other, " Lo ! 
What is he? I do not mean the force alone — 
The grace and versatility of the man ! 
Is it not Lancelot?" " When has Lancelot worn 
Favor of any lady in the lists ? 
Not such his wont, as we, that know him. know." 
" How then? who then? " a fury seized them all, 
A fiery family passion for the name 
Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs. 
They couch'd their spears and prick'd their 
steeds, and thus. 






212 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 



Their plumes driv'n backward by the wind they 

made 
In moving, all together down upon him 
Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North-sea, 
Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, 

with all 
Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, 
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark, 
And him that helms it, so they overbore 
Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear 
Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear 
Prick'd sharply his own cuirass, and the head 
Pierced thro' his side, and there snapt, and 

remained. 

Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully ; 
He bore a knight of old repute to the earth, 
And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay. 
He up the side, sweating with agony, got. 
But thought to do while he might yet endure, 
And being lustily holpen by the rest. 
His party, — tho' it seem'd half-miracle 
To those he fought with, — drave his kith and 

kin. 
And all the Table Round that held the lists. 
Back to the barrier ; then the trumpets blew 
Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve 
Of scarlet, and the pearls ; and all the knights, 
His partv, cried " Advance and take thy prize 



"m 



i'l 



The diamond ; " but he ansvver'd, " Diamond me 
No diamonds ! for God's love, a Httle air ! 
Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death ! 
Hence will I, and I charge you, follow me not.*' 

He spoke, and vanished suddenly from the 

field 
With young Lavaine into the poplar grove. 
There from his charger down he slid, and sat, 
Gasping to Sir Lavaine, " Draw the lance-head :'' 
" Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot," said Lavaine, 
" I dread me, if I draw it, you will die." 
But he, " I die already with it : draw — 
Draw," — and Lavaine drew, and Sir Lancelot 

gave 
A marvellous great shriek and ghastly groan. 
And half his blood burst forth, and down he 

sank 
For the pure pain, and wholly swoon'd away. 
Then came the hermit out and bare him in. 
There stanch"d his wound ; and there, in daily 

doubt 
Whether to live or die, for many a week 
Hid from the wide world's rumor by the grove 
Of poplars with their noise of falling showers, 
And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay. 



But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists. 
His party, knights of utmost North and West. 




/[rr..-v' 

b 






2 1 4 LANCEL T AXD EL A INE. 

Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate isles, 
Came round their great Pendragon, saying to 

him, 
" Lo, Sire, our knight, thro' whom we won the 

day, 
Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his 

prize 
Untaken, crying that his prize is death." 
"Heaven hinder," said the King, "that such 

an one. 
So great a knight as we have seen to-day — 
He seem'd to me another Lancelot — 
Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot — 
He must not pass uncared for. Wherefore, 

rise, 

Gawain, and ride forth and find the knight. 
Wounded and wearied needs must he be near. 

1 charge you that you get at once to horse. 
And, knights and kings, there breathes not one 

of you 
Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given : 
His prowess was too wondrous. We will 

him 
No customary honor : since the knight 
Came not to us, of us to claim the prize. 
Ourselves will send it after. Rise and take 
This diamond, and deliver it, and return. 
And bring us where he is. and how he fares, 
And cease not from your quest until ye find." 



do 



^\ 




r.'^>. 



So saying, from the the carven flower above, 
To which it made a restless heart, he took, 
And gave, the diamond : then from where he sat 
At Arthur's right, with smiling face arose. 
With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince 
In the mid might and flourish of his May, 
Gawain. surnamed The Courteous, fair and 

strong, 
And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint 
And Gareth, a good knight, but therewithal 
Sir Modred's brother, and the child of Lot, 
Nor often loyal to his word, and now 
Wroth that the King's command to sally forth 
In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave 
The banquet, and concourse of knights and 

kings. 



So all in wrath he got to horse and went ; 
While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood, 
Past, thinking "Is it Lancelot who hath come 
Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain 
Of glory, and hath added wound to wound, 
And ridd'n away to die?" So fear'd the King, 
And, after two days' tarriance there, return'd. 
Then when he saw the Queen, embracing ask'd, 
'• Love, are you yet so sick?" " Nay, lord," she 

said. 
"And where is Lancelot?" Then the Queen 
amazed, 





" Was he not with you ? won he not your prize ? " 
'■ Nay, but one like Jiim." " Why that like was 

he:' 
And when the King demanded how she knew. 
Said, " Lord, no sooner had ye parted from us, 
Tlian Lancelot told me of a common talk 
That men went down before liis spear at a touch. 
But knowing he was Lancelot ; his great name 
Conquered ; and therefore would he hide his 

name 
From all men, ev^n the King, and to this end 
Had made the pretext of a hindering wound, 
Tliat he might joust unknown of all, and learn 
If his old prowess were in aught decay'd ; 
And added, ' Our true Arthur, when he learns, 
Will well allow my pretext, as for gain 
Of purer glory.' " 

Then replied the King: 
" Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been, 
In lieu of idly dallying with the truth. 
To have trusted me as he hath trusted thee. 
Surely his King and most familiar friend 
Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed. 
Albeit I know my knights fantastical, 
So fine a fear in our large Lancelot 
Must needs have moved my laughter : now 

remains 
But little cause for lauijhter • his own kin — 



i 






I 








siS 



111 news, my Queen, for all who love him, this ! — 
His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him ; 
So that he went sore wounded from the field : 
Yet good news too : for goodly hopes are mine 
That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart. 
He wore, against his wont, upon his helm 
A sleeve of scarlet, broider'd with great pearls, 
Some jientle maiden's ijift." 



)i '^=> 






JJ''ll 



" Yea, lord," she said, 
" Thy hopes are mine," and saying that, she 

choked. 
And sharply turn'd about to hide her face. 
Past to her chamber, and there flung herself 
Down on the great King's couch, and writhed 

upon it. 
And clinclvd her fingers till they bit the palm. 
And shriek'd out " Traitor," to the unhearing 

wall. 
Then flash'd into wild tears, and rose again. 
And moved about her palace, proud and pale. 



Gawain the while thro' all the region round 
Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest, 
Touched at all points, except the poplar grove. 
And came at last, tho' late, to Astolat : 
Whom glittering in enamelPd arms the maid 
Glanced at, and cried, '■ What news from Game- 
lot, lord? 




^'.? 






What of the knight with the red sleeve ? '' 

won." 
" I knew it." she said. " But parted from the 

jousts 
Hurt in the side,"' wheareat she caught her 

breath : 
Thro' her own side she felt the sharp lance go ; 
Thereon she smote her hand : well-nigh she 

swoon'd : 
And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came 
The Lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prince 
Reported who he was, and on what quest 
Sent, that he bore the prize and could not find 
The victor, but had ridd'n a random round 
To seek him, and had wearied of the search. 
To whom the Lord of Astolat, " Bide with us, 
And ride no more at random, noble Prince ! 
Here was the knight, and here he left a shield ; 
This will he send or come for : furthermore 
Our son is with him ; we shall hear anon, 
Needs must we hear." To this the courteous 

Prince 
Accorded with his wonted courtesy. 
Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it. 
And stay'd ; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine : 
Where could be found face daintier.'' then her 

shape 
From forehead down to foot, perfect — again 
From foot to forehead exquisitely turn'd : 






if 



!?i^ 








i^S 



" Well — if I bide, lo ! this wild flower for me ! " 
And oft they met among the garden yews, 
And there he set himself to play upon her 
With sallying wit, free flashes from a height 
Above her, graces of the court, and songs. 
Sighs, and slow smiles, and golden eloquence 
And amorous adulation, till the maid 
Rebeird against it, saying to him, " Prince, 
O loyal nephew of our noble King, 
Why ask you not to see the shield he left, 
Whence you might learn his name? Why slight 

your King, 
And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove 
No surer than our falcon vesterdav. 
Who lost the hern we slipt her at, and went 
To all the winds? " " Nay, by mine head," said 

he, 
" I lose it, as we lose the lark in heaven, 
O damsel, in the light of your blue eves ; 
But an ye will it let me see the shield." 
And when the shield was brought, and Gawain 

saw 
Sir Lancelot's azure lions, crown'd with gold. 
Ramp in the field, he smote his thigh, and 

mock'd : 
" Right was the King ! our Lancelot ! that true 

man V 
" And right was I," she answer'd merrily, " L 
Who dream'd mv knight the greatest knight of 





•:e'- 




" And if /dream'd," said Gawain, " that you love 
This greatest knight, your pardon ! lo, ye know 

it! 
Speak therefore : shall I waste myself in vain? " 
Full simple was her answer, " What know I? 
My brethren have been all my fellowship ; 
And I, when often they have talk'd of love, 
Wish'd it had been my mother, for they talk'd, 
iVIeseem'd, of what they knew not; so myself — 
I know not if I know what true love is. 
But if I know, then, if I love not him, 
I know there is none other I can love." 
" Yea, by God"s death," said he, " ye love him 

well. 
But would not, knew ye what all others know. 
And whom he loves." " So be it," cried Elaine, 
And lifted her fair face and moved away : 
But he pursued her, calling, " Stay a little ! 
One golden minute's grace ! he wore your sleeve : 
Would he break faith with one I may not name? 
Must our true man change like a leaf at last ? 
Nay — like enow: why then, far be it from me 
To cross our mighty Lancelot in his loves ! 
And, damsel, for I deem you know full well 
Where your great knight is hidden, let me leave 
My quest with you ; the diamond also : here ! 
For if you love, it will be sweet to give it ; 
And irhe love, it will be sweet to have it 
From your own hand : and whether he love or 

not. 






A diamond is a diamond. Fare you well 
A thousand times ! — a thousand times farewell ! 
Yet, if he love, and his love hold, we two 
May meet at court hereafter : there, I think, 
So ye will learn the courtesies of the court, 
We two shall know each other." 

Then he gave, 
And slightly kiss'd the hand to which he gave, 
The diamond, and all wearied of the quest 
Leapt on his horse, and carolling as he went 
A true-love ballad, lightly rode away. 

Thence to the court he past ; there told the 

King 
What the King knew. " Sir Lancelot is the 

knight."' 
And added, " Sire, my liege, so much I learnt ; 
But faird to find him. tho' I rode all round 
The region : but I lighted on the maid 
Whose sleeve he wore ; she loves him ; and to 

her. 
Deeming our courtesy is the truest law, 
I gave the diamond : she will render it ; 
For by mine head she knows his hiding-place." 

The seldom-frowning King frown'd, and re- 
plied, 
" Too courteous truly ! ye shall go no more 



I 







LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

On quest of mine, seeing that ye forget 
/(gj)) Obedience is tlie courtesy due to kings." 



He spake and parted. Wrotli, but all in awe, 
For twenty strokes of tlie blood, without a word, 
Linger"d that other, staring after him ; 
Then shook his hair, strode off, and buzz'd abroad 
About the maid of Astolat, and her love. 
All ears were prick'd at once, all tongues were 

loosed : 
" The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lancelot, 
Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat." 
Some read the King's face, some the Queen's, 

and all 
Had marvel what the maid might be, but most 
Predoom'd her as unworthy. One old dame 
Came suddenly on the (2ueen with the sharp 

news. 
She, that had heard the noise of it before. 
But sorrowing Lancelot should have stoop'd so 

low, 
Marr'd her friend's aim with pale tranquillity. 
So ran the tale like fire about the court. 
Fire in dry stubble a nine-days' wonder flared : 
Till ev'n the knights at banquet twice or thrice 
Forgot to drink to Lancelot and the Queen, 
And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid 
Smiled at each other, while the Queen, who sat 
With lips severely placid, felt the knot 



\,0\ 
It), 



1 



S 



5 










LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 223 

Climb in her tliroat, and with lier feet unseen 
Crushed tlie wild passion out against the floor 
Beneath the banquet, where the meats became 
As wormwood, and she hated all who pledged. 

But far away the maid in Astolat, 
Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept 
The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in iier heart, 
Crept to her father, while he mused alone, 
Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and said, 
" Father, you call me wilful, and the fault 
Is yours who let me have my will, and now. 
Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits?" 
"Nay,"' said he, "surely." "Wherefore, let 

me hence," 
She answered, "and find out our dear Lavaine. ' 
" Ye will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine : 
Bide," an.swer'd he : " we need must hear anon 
Of him, and of that other." " Ay," she said, 
"And of that other, for I needs must hence 
And find that other, wheresoe'er he be. 
And with mine own hand give his diamond to 

him. 
Lest I be found as faithless in the quest 
As yon proud Prince who left the quest to me. 
Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams 
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself. 
Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden's aid. 
The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound. 





My father, to be sweet and serviceable 
To noble knights in sickness, as ye know 
When these have worn their tokens : let me hence 
I pray you." Then her father nodding said, 
" Ay, ay, the diamond : wit ye well, my child, 
Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole, 
Being our greatest : yea, and you must give it — 
And sure I think this fruit is hung too high 
For any mouth to gape for save a queen's — 
Nay, I mean nothing : so then, get you gone. 
Being so very wilful you must go." 




Lightly, her suit allowed, she slipt away. 
And while she made her ready for her ride 
Her father's latest word humm'd in her ear, 
*' Being so very wilful you must go," 
And changed itself and echo'd in her heart, 
*' Being so very wilful you must die." 
But she was happy enough and shook it off. 
As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us ; 
And in her heart she answered it and said, 
" What matter, so I help him back to life?" 
Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide 
Rode o'er the long backs of the bushless downs 
To Camelot, and before the city-gates 
Came on her brother with a happy face 
Making a roan horse caper and curvet 
For pleasure all about a field of flowers : 
Whom when she saw, " Lavaine," she cried, 
" Lavaine, 



I 







'W 



LANCELOT A.Vn ELA/.VE. 



225 



How fares my lord Sir Lancelot ? " He amazed, 
" Torre and Elaine ! why here? Sir Lancelot ! 
How know ye my lord's name is Lancelot ? " 
But when the maid had told him all her tale, 
Then turn'd Sir Torre, and being in his moods 
Left them, and under the strange-statued gate, 
Where Arthur's wars were rendered mystically, 
Past up the still rich city to his kin, 
His own far blood, which dwelt at Camelot ; 
And her, Lavaine across the poplar grove 
Led to the caves : there first she saw the casque 
Of Lancelot on the wall : her scarlet sleeve, 
Tho' carved and cut, and half the pearls away, 
Stream'd from it still ; and in her heart she 

laugh'd, 
Because he had not loosed it from his helm, 
But meant once more perchance to tourney in it. 
And when they gain'd the cell wherein he slept. 
His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands 
Lay naked on the wolfskin, and a dream 
Of dragging down his enemy made them move. 
Then she that saw him lying unsleek, unshorn, 
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself, 
Utter'd a little tender dolorous cry. 
The sound not wonted in a place so still 
Woke the sick knight, and while he roll'd his 

eyes 
Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, saying, 
" Your prize the diamond sent you by the King : " 




I 5V 




His eyes glisten'd : she fciiicied " Is it for me?"" 
And when the maid had told him all the tale 
Of King and Prince, the diamond sent, the quest 
Assign'd to her not worthy of it, she knelt 
Full lowly by the corners of his bed, 
And laid the diamond in his open hand. 
Her face was near, and as we kiss the child 
That does the task assign'd, he kiss'd her face. 
At once she slipt like water to the floor. 
" Alas," he said, " your ride hath wearied you. 
Rest must you have." " No rest for me," she 

said ; 
"Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at rest." 
What might she mean by that? his large black 

eyes. 
Yet larger thro' his leanness, dwelt upon her, 
Till all her heart's sad secret blazed itself 
In the heart's colors on her simple face ; 
And Lancelot look'd and was perplext in mind. 
And being weak in body said no more ; 
But did not love the color; woman's love. 
Save one, he not regarded, and so turn'd 
Sighing, and feign'd a sleep until he slept. 



^ 



Then rose Elaine and glided thro' the fields, 
And past beneath the weirdly-sculptured gates 
Far up the dim rich city to her kin ; 
There bode the night : but woke with dawn, and 
past 



LAXCELOT AND ELAINE. 227 



•C); 






Down thro" the dim rich city to the fields. 
Thence to the cave : so day by day she past 
In either twilight ghost-like to and fro 
Gliding, and every day she tended him, 
And likewise many a night : and Lancelot 
Would, tho' he call'd his wound a little hurt 
Whereof he should be quickly whole, at times 
Brain-feverous in his heat and agony, seem 
Uncourteous, even he : but the meek maid 
Sweetly forbore him ever, being to him 
Meeker than any child to a rough nurse. 
Milder than any mother to a sick child, 
And never woman yet, since man's first fall. 
Did kindlier unto man. but her deep love 
Upbore her ; till the hermit, skilPd in all 
The simples and the science of that time. 
Told him that her fine care had saved his life. 
And the sick man forgot her simple blush. 
Would call Jier friend and sister, sweet Elaine, 
Would listen for her coming and regret 
Her parting step, and held her tenderly. 
And loved her with all love except the love 
Of man and woman w^hen they love their 

best. 
Closest and sweetest, and had died the death 
In any knightly fashion for her sake. 
And peradventure had he seen her first 
She might have made this and that other world 
Another world for the sick man ; but now 







LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

The shackles of an old love straitened him, 
■(<i))J His honor rooted in dishonor stood, 

And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true. 



Yet the great knight in his mid-sickness made 
Full many a holy vow and pure resolve. 
These, as but born of sickness, could not live : 
For when the blood ran lustier in him again, 
Full often the bright image of one face. 
Making a treacherous quiet in his heart. 
Dispersed his resolution like a cloud. 
Then if the maiden, while that ghostly grace 
Beam'd on his fancy, spoke, he answer'd not. 
Or short and coldly, and she knew right well 
What the rough sickness meant, but what this 

meant 
She knew not, and the sorrow dimm'd her sight, 
And drave her ere her time across the tields 
Far into the rich city, where alone . 
She murmur'd, " Vain, in vain : it cannot be. 
He will not love me : how then? must I die? " 
Then as a little helpless innocent bird, 
That has but one plain passage of few notes. 
Will sing the simple passage o'er and o'er 
For all an April morning, till the ear 
Wearies to hear it, so the simple maid 
Went half the night repeating, " Must I die?" 
And now to right she turn'd, and now to left, 
And found no ease in turning or in rest ; 




LANCELOT AND ELALXE. 229 )^:^ 

And "Him or death," she muttered, "death or 

him," 
Asrain and like a burthen, " Him or death." 



But when Sir Lancelot's deadly hurt was whole. 
To Astolat returning rode the three. 
There morn by morn, arraying her sweet self 
In that wherein she deem'd she lookM her best. 
She came before Sir Lancelot, for she thought 
" If I be loved, these are my festal robes, 
If not, the victim's flowers before he fall." 
And Lancelot ever prest upon the maid 
That she should ask some goodly gift of him 
For her own self or hers ; " and do not shun 
To speak the wish most near to your true heart ; 
Such service have ye done me, that I make 
My will of yours, and Prince and Lord am I 
In mine own land, and what I will I can." 
Then like a ghost she lifted up her face. 
But like a ghost without the power to speak. 
And Lancelot saw that she withheld her wish. 
And bode among them yet a little space 
Till he should learn it ; and one morn it chanced 
He found her in among the garden yews. 
And said, " Delay no longer, speak your wish, 
Seeing I go to-day : " then out she brake : 
" Going? and we shall never see you more. 
And I must die for want of one bold word." 
" Speak : that 1 live to hear," he said, " is yours." 





W Q\ 



Then suddenly and passionately she spoke : 
•■ I have gone mad. I love you : let me die." 
'• Ah, sister,"' answer'd Lancelot, "what is this?" 
And innocently extending her white arms, 
" Your love," she said, " your love — to be your 

wife."" 
And Lancelot ans\ver"d, " Had I chosen to wed, 
I had been wedded earlier, sweet Elaine : 
But now there never will be wife of mine." 
'■ No, no," she cried, " I care not to be wife, 
But to be with you still, to see your face, 
To serve you, and to follow you thro' the world." 
And Lancelot answer'd, "Nay, the world, the 

world. 
All ear and eye, with such a stupid heart 
To interpret ear and eye, and such a tongue 
To blare its own interpretation — nay, 
Full ill then should I quit your brother's love, 
And your good father's kindness." And she said, 
" Not to be with you, not to see your face — 
Alas for me then, my good days are done." 
" Nay, noble maid," he answer'd, " ten times 

nay ! 
This is not love : but love's first flash in youth. 
Most common : yea, I know it of mine own self: 
And you yourself will smile at your own self 
Hereafter, when you yield your flower of life 
To one more fitly yours, not thrice your age : 
And then will I, for true you are and sweet 



'■: W 



LANCELOT AXD ELAINE. 231 

Beyond mine old belief in womanhood, 
More specially should your good knight be poor, 
Endow you with broad land and territory 
Even to the half my realm beyond the seas, 
So that would make you happy : furthermore, 
Ev'n to the death, as tho' ye were my blood, 
In all your quarrels will I be your knight. 
This will I do, dear damsel, for your sake. 
And more than this I cannot." 



While he spoke 
She neither blush'd nor shook, but deathly-pale 
Stood grasping what was nearest, then replied : 
" Of all this will I nothing: " and so fell, 
And thus they bore her swooning to her tower. 

Then spake, to whom thro^ those black walls 
of yew 
Their talk had pierced, her father : " Ay, a flash. 
I fear me, that will strike my blossom dead. 
Too courteous are ye, fair Lord Lancelot. 
I pray you, use some rough discourtesy 
To blunt or break her passion." 

Lancelot said, 
" That were against me : what I can I will ; " 
And there that day remain'd, and toward even 
Sent for his shield : full meekly rose the maid, 
Stript off" the case, and gave the naked shield'; 





Then, when she heard his horse upon the stones, 
Unclasping flung the casement back, and lookM 
Down on his helm, from which lier sleeve had 

gone. 
And Lancelot knew the little clinking sound ; 
And she by tact of love was well aware 
That Lancelot knew that she was looking at 

him. 
And yet he glanced not up. nor waved his 

hand, 
Nor bade farewell, but sadly rode away. 
This was the one discourtesy that he used. 



So in her tower alone the maiden sat : 
His very shield was gone ; only the case. 
Her own poor work, her empty labor, left. 
But still she heard him, still his picture form'd 
And grew between her and the pictured wall. 
Then came her father, saying in low tones, 
" Have comfort,"' whom she greeted quietly. 
Then came her brethren saying, "Peace to 

thee, 
Sweet sister," whom she answered with all calm. 
But when they left her to herself again, 
Death, like a friend's voice from a distant field 
Approaching thro' the darkness, call'd ; the owls' 
Wailing had power upon her, and she mixt 
Her fancies with the sallow-rifted glooms 
Of evening, and the moanings of the wind. 



i 



'^% 




And in those days she made a little song, 
And caird her song " The Song of Love and 

Death," 
And sang it : sweetly could she make and sing. 



" Sweet is true love tho' given in vain, in vain ; 
And sweet is death who puts an end to pain : 
I t:now not which is sweeter, no, not I. 

" Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must 
be: 
Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me. 

Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 

" Sweet love, that seems not made to fade 
away. 
Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay, 

1 know not which is sweeter, no, not L 

" I fain would follow love, if that could be ; 
I needs must follow death, who calls for me ; 
Call and I follow, I follow ! let me die." 



£ti. 



High with the last line scaled her voice, and 

this. 
All in a fiery dawning wild with wind 
That shook her tower, the brothers heard, and 

thought 
With shuddering, " Hark the Phantom of the 

house 



I 



234 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 



That ever shrieks before a death," and calPd 
The father, and all three in hurry and fear 
Ran to her, and lo ! the blood-red light of dawn 
Flared on her face, she shrilling, " Let me die ! " 

As when we dwell upon a word we know, 
Repeating, till the word we know so well 
Becomes a wonder, and we know not why. 
So dwelt the father on her face, and thought 
" Is this Elaine?" till back the maiden fell. 
Then gave a languid hand to each, and lay, 
Speaking a still good-morrow with her eyes. 
At last she said, " Sweet brothers, yesternight 
I seem'd a curious little maid again. 
As happy as when we dwelt among the woods, 
And when ye used to take me with the flood 
Up the great river in the boatman's boat. 
Only ye would not pass beyond the cape 
That has the poplar on it : there ye fixt 
Your limit, oft returning with the tide. 
And yet I cried because ye would not pass 
Beyond it, and far up the shining flood 
Until we found the palace of the King. 
And yet ye would not ; but this night I dream'd 
That I was all alone upon the flood. 
And then I said, ' Now shall I have my will : ' 
And there I woke, but still the wish remain'd. 
So let me hence that I may pass at last 
Beyond the poplar and far up the flood, 






Until I find the palace of the King. 
There will I enter in among them all, 
And no man there will dare to mock at me ; 
But there the fine Gawain will wonder at me, 
And there the great Sir Lancelot muse at me ; 
Gawain, who bade a thousand farewells to me, 
Lancelot, who coldl}- went, nor bade me one : 
And there the King will know me and my love. 
And there the Queen herself will pity me. 
And all the gentle court will welcome me. 
And after my long voyage I shall rest ! " 



)'>- 



" Peace," said her father, " O my child, ye 
seem 
Light-headed, for what force is yours to go 
So far, being sick ? and wherefore would ye look 
On this proud fellow again, who scorns us all?" 



Then the rough Torre began to heave and 
move, 
And bluster into stormy sobs and say, 
" I never loved him : an I meet with him, 
I care not howsoever great he be. 
Then will I strike at him and strike him down. 
Give me good fortune, I will strike him dead. 
For this discomfort he hath done the house." 



';-] 

i?^. 



To wliom the gentle sister made reply, 
" Fret noi yourself, dear brother, nor be wroth. 



■^^ .;.'| 236 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Seeing it is no more Sir Lancelot's fault 

Not to love me, than it is mine to love 

Him of all men vi^ho seems to me the hie:hest. 



"Highest?" the father answer'd. echoing 
" highest?" 
(He meant to break the passion in her) " nay, 
Daughter, I know not what you call the highest ; 
But this I know, for all the people know it. 
He loves the Queen, and in an open shame : 
And she returns his love in open shame ; 
If this be high, what is it to be low?" 



i\ 



Then spake the lily maid of Astolat : 
" Sweet father, all too faint and sick am I 
For anger : these are slanders : never yet 
Was noble man but made ignoble talk. 
He makes no friend who never made a foe. 
But now it is my glory to have loved 
One peerless, without stain : so let me pass. 
My father, howsoe'er I seem to you. 
Not all unhappy, having loved God's best 
And greatest, tho' my love had no return : 
Yet, seeing you desire your child to live, 
Thanks, but you work against your own desire; 
For if I could believe the things you say 
I should but die the sooner ; wherefore cease, 
Sweet father, and bid call the ghostly man 
Hither, and let me shrive me clean, and die." 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 237 



So when the ghostly man had come and gone, 
She with a face, bright as for sin forgiven, 
Besought Lavaine to write as she devised 
A letter, word for word ; and when he ask'd 
*' Is it for Lancelot, is it for my dear lord? 
Then will I bear it gladly : " she replied, 
" For Lancelot and the Queen and all the world, 
But I myself must bear it." Then he wrote 
The letter she devised ; which being writ 
And folded, " O sweet father, tender and true. 
Deny me not," she said — "ye never yet 
Denied my fancies — this, however strange, 
My latest : lay the letter in my hand 
A little ere I die, and close the hand 
Upon it ; I shall guard it even in death. 
And when the heat is gone from out my heart. 
Then take the little bed on which I died 
For Lancelot's love, and deck it like the Queen's 
For richness, and me also hke the Queen 
In all I have of rich, and lay me on it. 
And let there be prepared a chariot-bier 
To take me to the river, and a barge 
Be ready on the river, clothed in black. 
I go in state to court, to meet the Queen. 
There surely I shall speak for mine own self. 
And none of you can speak for me so well. 
And therefore let our dumb old man alone 
Go with me, he can steer and row, and he 
Will guide me to that palace, to the doors." 




238 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

She ceased : her father promised ; whereupon 
She grew so cheerful that they deem'd her death 
Was rather in the fantasy than the blood. 
But ten slow mornings past, and on the eleventh 
Her father laid the letter in her hand, 
And closed the hand upon it, and she died. 
So that day there was dole in Astolat. 



lb; 



t 



But when the next sun brake from under- 
ground, 
Then, those two brethren slowly with bent brows 
Accompanymg, the sad chariot-bier 
Past like a shadow thro' the field, that shone 
Full-summer, to that stream whereon the barge, 
Paird all Its length in blackest samite, lay. 
There sat the lifelong creature of the house, 
Loyal, the dumb old servitor, on deck, 
Winking his eyes, and twisted all his face. 
So those two brethren from the chariot took 
And on the black decks laid her in her bed, 
Set in her hand a lily, o'er her hung 
The silken case with braided blazonings, 
And kiss'd her quiet brows, and saying to her 
" Sister, farewell for ever," and again 
" Farewell, sweet sister," parted all in tears. 
Then rose the dumb old servitor, and the dead, 
Oar'd by the dumb, went upward with the flood — 
In her right hand the lily, in her left 
The letter — all her bright hair streaming down — 



i 



^ 



i-L.^ 



And all the coverlid was cloth of gold 
Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white 
All but her face, and that clear-featured face 
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead, 
But fast asleep, and lay as tho' she smiled. 

That day Sir Lancelot at the palace craved 
Audience of Guinevere, to give at last 
The price of half a realm, his costly gift. 
Hard-won and hardly won with bruise and blow, 
With deaths of others, and almost his own. 
The nine-years-fought-for diamonds : for he saw 
One of her house, and sent him to the Queen 
Bearing his wish, whereto the Queen agreed 
With such and so unmoved a majestv 
She might have seem'd her statue, but that he, 
Low-drooping till he wellnigh kiss'd her feet 
For loyal awe, saw with a sidelong eye 
The shadow of some piece of pointed lace, 
In the Queen's shadow, vibrate on the walls, 
And parted, laughing in his courtly heart. 

All in an oriel on the summer side, 
Vine-clad, of Arthur's palace toward the stream. 
They met, and Lancelot kneehng utter'd, 

" Queen, 
Lady, my liege, in whom I have my joy. 
Take, what I had not won except for you. 
These jewels, and make me happy, making them 




f 



An armlet for the roundest arm on earth. 
Or necklace for a neck to which the swan's 
Is tawnier than her C3'gnet's : these are words : 
Your beauty is your beauty, and I sin 
In speaking, yet O grant my worship of it 
Words, as we grant grief tears. Such sin in 

words 
Perchance, we both can pardon : but, my Queen, 
I hear of rumors flying thro' your court. 
Our bond, as not the bond of man and wife, 
Should have in it an absoluter trust 
To make up that defect : let rumors be : 
When did not rumors fly? these, as I trust 
That you trust me in your own nobleness, 
I may not well believe that you believe." 



While thus he spoke, half turn'd away, the 
Queen 
Brake from the vast oriel-embowering vine 
Leaf after leaf, and tore, and cast them off. 
Till all the place whereon she stood was green ; 
Then, when he ceased, in one cold passive hand 
Received at once and laid aside the gems 
There on a table near her, and replied : 



ii 



" It may be, I am quicker of belief 
Then you believe me, Lancelot of the Lake. 
Our bond is not the bond of man and wife. 
This good is in it, whatsoe'er of ill, 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 241 l^, 



It can be broken easier. I for you 

This many a year have done despite and wrong 

To one whom ever in my heart of hearts 

I did acknowledge nobler. What are these? 

Diamonds for me ! they had been thrice their 

worth 
Being your gift, had you not lost your own. 
To loyal hearts the value of all gifts 
Must vary as the giver's. Not for me ! 
For her ! for your new fancy. Only this 
Grant me, I pray you : have your joys apart. 
I doubt not that however changed, you keep 
So much of what is graceful : and myself 
Would shun to break those bounds of courtesy 
In which as Arthur's Qnpeu I move and 

rule : 
So cannot speak my mind. An end to this ! 
A strange one ! yet I take it with Amen. 
So pray you, add my diamonds to her pearls ; 
Deck her with these; tell her, she shines me 

down : 
An armlet for an arm to wiiich the Queen's 
Is haggard, or a necklace for a neck 
O as much fairer — as a faith once fair 
Was richer than these diamonds — hers not 

mine — 
Nay, by the mother of our Lord himself. 
Or hers or mine, mine now to work my will — 
She shall not have them."" 



•^ 





Saying which she seized. 
And, thro' the casement standing wide for heat. 
Flung them, and down tliey flasli'd and smote 

the stream. 
Then from the smitten surface flashed, as it were, 
Diamonds to meet them, and they past away. 
Then while Sir Lancelot leant, in half disdain 
At love, life, all things, on the window ledge. 
Close underneath his eyes, and right across 
Where these had fallen, slowly past the barge 
Whereon the lily maid of Astolat 
Lay smiling, like a star in blackest night. 

But the wild Queen, who saw not, burst away 
To weep and wail in secret ; and the barge, 
On to the palace-doorway sliding, paused. 
There two stood arni'd, and kept the door ; to 

whom. 
All up the marble stair, tier over tier. 
Were added mouths that gaped, and eyes that 

ask'd 
" What is it?" but that oarsman's haggard face, 
As hard and still as is the face that men 
Shape to their fancy's eye from broken rocks 
On some cliff-side, appall'd them, and they said, 
" He is enchanted, cannot speak — and she. 
Look how she sleeps — the Fairy Queen, so fair ! 
Yea, but how pale! what are they? flesh and 

blood? 



\l 



) 






^ 




K 



LANCELOT AA'D ELAINE. 243 

Or come to take the Kins; to Fairyland? 
For some do hold our Arthur cannot die, 
But that he passes into Fairyland." 

While thus they babbled of the King, the King 
Came girt with knights : then turn'd the tongue- 
less man 
From the half-face to the full eye, and rose 
And pointed to the damsel, and the doors. 
So Arthur bade the meek Sir Percivale 
And pure Sir Galahad to uplift the maid ; 
And reverently they bore her into hall. 
Then came the fine Gawain and wonder'd at her, 
And Lancelot later came and mused at her. 
And last the Queen herself, and pitied her : 
But Arthur spied the letter in her hand, 
Stoopt, took, brake seal, and read it ; this was 
all: 

" Most noble lord. Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 
L sometime calTd the maid of Astolat, 
Come, for you left me taking no farewell. 
Hither, to take my last farewell of you. 
I loved you, and my love had no return. 
And therefore my true love has been my death. 
And therefore to our Lady Guinevere, 
And to all other ladies, I make moan. 
Pray for my soul, and yield me burial. 
Pray for my soul thou too. Sir Lancelot, 
As thou art a knight peerless." 



^:: 





Thus he read ; 
And ever in the reading, lords and dames 
Wept, looking often from his face who read 
To hers which lay so silent, and at times, 
So touched were they, half-thinking that her lips, 
Who had devised the letter, moved again. 



Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them all : 
" My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear, 
Know that for this most gentle maiden's death 
Right heavy am I ; for good she was and true, 
But loved me with a love beyond all love 
In women, whomsoever I have known. 
Yet to be loved makes not to love again ; 
Not at my years, however it hold in youth. 
I swear by truth and knighthood that 1 gave 
No cause, not willingly, for such a love : 
To this I call my friends in testimony. 
Her brethren, and her father, who himself 
Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use. 
To break her passion, some discourtesy 
Against my nature : what I could, I did. 
I left her and I bade her no farewell ; 
Tho\ had I dreamt the damsel would have died, 
1 might have put my wits to some rough use. 
And help'd her from herself. 

Then said the Queen 
(Sea was her wrath, yet working after storm) 




m 




" Ye might at least have done her so much grace. 
Fair lord, as would have help'd her from her 

death."' 
He raised his head, their eyes met and hers fell. 
He adding, 

" Queen, she would not be content 
Save that I wedded her, which could not be. 
Then might she follow me thro' the world, she 

ask'd ; 
It could not be. I told her that her love 
Was but the flash of youth, would darken down 
To rise hereafter in a stiller flame 
Toward one more worthy of her — then would I, 
More specially were he, she wedded, poor, 
Estate them with large land and territory 
In mine own realm beyond the narrow seas. 
To keep them in all joyance : more than this 
Pk^ I could not ; this she would not, and she died." 



He pausing, Arthur answer'd, " O my knight. 
It will be to thy worship, as my knight. 
And mine, as head of all our Table Round, 
To see that she be buried worshipfully." 



So toward that shrine which then in all the 
realm 
Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went 
The marshaird Order of their Table Round, 
And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see 



// 



R 



^^^^^^^H^^ 




The maiden buried, not as one unknown, 
Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies. 
And mass, and rolUng music, like a queen. 
And when the knights had laid her comely head 
Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings, 
Then Arthur spake among them, " Let her tomb 
Be costly, and her image thereupon. 
And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet 
Be carven, and her lily in her hand. 
And let the story of her dolorous voyage 
For all true hearts be blazon'd on her tomb 
In letters gold and azure ! " which was wrought 
Thereafter ; but when now the lords and dames 
And people, from the high door streaming, brake 
Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen, 
Who mark'd Sir Lancelot where he moved apart, 
Drew near, and sighed in passing, " Lancelot, 
Forgive me ; mine was jealousy in love." 
He answered with his eyes upon the ground, 
■ " That is love's curse ; pass on, my Queen, for- 
given." 
But Arthur, who beheld his cloudy brows. 
Approached him, and with full affection said, 

" Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have 
iMost joy and most affiance, for I know 
What thou hast been in battle by my side. 
And many a time have watch'd thee at the tilt 
Strike down the lusty and long practised knight, 



I 



• Cn 



m 
1 



,^ 




LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

And let the younger and unskill'd go by 
To win his honor and to make his name, 
And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man 
iMade to be loved ; but now I would to God, 
Seeing the homeless trouble in thine eyes, 
Thou couldst have loved this maiden, shaped, it 

seems, 
By God for thee alone, and from her face, 
If one may judge the living by the dead, 
Delicately pure and marvellously fair, 
Who might have brought thee, now a lonely 

man 
Wifeless and heirless, noble issue, sons 
Born to the glory of thy name and fame, 
My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake." 



Then answered Lancelot, " Fair she was, my 
King, 
Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be. 
To doubt her fairness were to want an eye. 
To doubt her pureness were to want a heart — 
Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love 
Could bind him, but free love will not be bound." 

"Free love, so bound, were freest," said the 
King. 
" Let love be free ; free love is for the best : 
And, after heaven, on our dull side of death, 
What should be best, if not so pure a love 



I 





^'L 



Clothed in so pure a loveliness ? yet thee 
She faird to bind, tho' being, as I think. 
Unbound as yet, and gentle, as I know." 

And Lancelot answer'd nothing, but he went, 
And at the inrunning of a little brook 
Sat by the river in a cove, and watch'd 
The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes 
And saw the barge that brought her moving 

down. 
Far-off, a blot upon the stream, and said 
Low in himself, " Ah simple heart and sweet. 
Ye loved me, damsel, surely with a love 
Far tenderer than my Queen's. Pray for thy 

soul? 
Ay, that will L Farewell too — now at last — 
Farewell, fair lily. 'Jealousy in love? ' 
Not rather dead love's harsh heir, jealous pride? 
Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love. 
May not not your crescent fear for name and 

fame 
Speak, as it waxes, of a love that wanes? 
Why did the King dwell on my name to me ? 
Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach, 
Lancelot, whom the Lady of the Lake 
Caught from his mother's arms — the wondrous 



a 



iJ 



Who passes thro' the vision of the night — 
She chanted snatches of mvsterious hvmns 




.i«^ 



'i^m 



Heard on t!ie winding waters, eve and morn 
She kiss'd me saying, " Thou art fair, my child. 
As a King's son," and often in her arms 
She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere. 
Would she had drown'd me in it, wherever it be ! 
For what am I ? what profits me my name 
Of greatest knight ? I fought for it, and have it : 
Pleasure to have it, none ; to lose it, pain ; 
Now grown a part of me : but what use in it? 
To make men worse by making my sin known? 
Or sin seem less, the sinner seeming great ? 
Alas for Arthur's greatest knight, a man 
Not after Arthur's heart ! I needs must break 
These bonds that so defame me : not without 
She wills it : would I, if she vvilPd it? nay, 
Who knows? but if I would not, then may God, 
I pray him, send a sudden Angel down 
To sieze me by the hair and bear me far. 
And fling me deep in that forgotten mere. 
Among the tumbled fras^ments of the hills." 



So groan'd Sir Lancelot in remorseful pain, 
Not knowing he should die a holy man. 




From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done 

In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, 

Whom Arthur and his knighthood calTd The 

Pure, 
Had pass'd into the silent life of prayer. 
Praise, fast, and alms ; and leaving for the cowl 
The helmet in an abbey far away 
From Camelot, there, and not long after, died. 






And one, a fellow-monk among the rest, 
Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest, 
And honorM him, and wrought into his heart 
A way by love that waken'd love within. 
To answer that which came : and as they sat 
Beneath a world-old yew-tree, darkening half 
The cloisters, on a gustful April morn 
That puff'd the swaying branches into smoke 
Above them, ere the summer when he died, 
The monk Ambrosius question'd Percivale : 



<;'i 



/ A ■ 



" O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke, 
Spring after spring, for half a hundred years : 
For never have I known the world without, 





Nor ever stray'd beyond the pale : but thee, 
When first thou earnest — such a courtesy 
Spake thro' the limbs and in the voice — I knew 
For one of those who eat in Arthur''s hall : 
For good ye are and bad, and like to coins, 
Some true, some light, but every one of you 
Stamp'd with the image of the King : and now 
Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round, 
My brother ? was it earthly passion crost ? " 

" Nay,"' said the knight ; " for no such passion 

mine. 
But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail 
Drove me from all vainglories, rivalries. 
And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out 
Among us in the jousts, while women watch 
Who wins, who falls ; and waste the spiritual 

strength 
Within us, better offer'd up to Heaven." 

To whom the monk: "The Holy Grail! — I 

trust 
We are green in Heaven's eyes ; but here too 

much 
We moulder — • as to things without I mean — 
Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours. 
Told us of this in our refectory. 
But spake with such a sadness and so low 
We heard not half of what he said. What is it? 
Tlie phantom of a cup that comes and goes? " 



w 





"Nay, monk! what phantom?" answered 
Percivale. 

" The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord 
Drank at the last sad supper with his own. 
This, from the blessed land of Aromat — 
After the day of darkness, when the dead 
Went wandering o"er Moriah — the good saint 
Arimathaean Joseph, journeying brought 
To Glastonbury, where the winter thorn 
Blossoms at Christmas, mindful of our Lord. 
And there awhile it bode ; and if a man 
Could touch or see it, he was heaPd at once, 
By faith, of all his ills. But then the times 
Grew to such evil that the holy cup 
Was caught away to Heaven, and disappeared." 

To whom the monk : " From our old books I 
know 
That Joseph came of old to Glastonbury, 
And there the heathen Prince. Arxiragus, 
Gave him an isle of marsh whereon to build ; 
And there he built with wattles from the marsh 
A little lonely church in days of yore. 
For so they say, these books of ours, but seem 
Mute of this miracle, far as I have read. 
But who first saw the holy thing to-day .'' " 

" A woman," answered Percivale, " a nun, 
And one no further off in blood from me 




i^Sg^^ 




Than sister ; and if ever holy maid 
With knees of adoration wore the stone, 
A holy maid ; tho' never maiden glow'd, 
liut that was in her earlier maidenhood. 
With such a fervent flame of human love. 
Which being rudely blunted, glanced and shot 
Only to holy things ; to prayer and praise 
She gave herself, to fast and alms. And yet, 
Nun as she was, the scandal of the Court, 
Sin against Arthur and the Table Round, 
And the strange sound of an adulterous race, 
Across the iron grating of her cell 
Beat, and she pray'd and fasted all the more. 




" And he to whom she told her sins, or what 
Her all but utter whiteness held for sin, 
A man wellnigh a hundred winters old. 
Spake often with her of the Holy Grail, 
A legend handed down thro' five or six, 
And each of these a hundred winters old, 
From our Lord's time. And when King Arthur 

made 
His Table Round, and all men's hearts became 
Clean for a season, surely he had thought 
That now the Holy Grail would come again ; 
But sin broke out. Ah, Christ, that it would 

come. 
And heal the worid of all their wickedness ! 
' O Father ! ' ask"d the maiden, ' might it come 





To me by prayer and fasting ? ' ' Nay,' said he, 
' I know not, for thy heart is pure as snow.' 
And so she pray'd and fasted, till the sun 
Shone, and the wind blew, thro' her, and I 

thought 
She might have risen and floated when I saw her. 



" For on a day she sent to speak with me. 
And when she came to speak, behold her eyes 
Beyond my knowing of them, beautiful, 
Beyond all knowing of them, wonderful. 
Beautiful in the light of holiness. 
And ' O my brother Percivale,' she said, 
J j ' Sweet brother, I have seen the Holy Grail : 
For, waked at dead of night, I heard a sound 
As of a silver horn from o'er the hills 
Blown, and I thought, "It is not Arthur's use 
To hunt by moonlight ; " and the slender sound 
As from a distance beyond distance grew 
Coming upon me — O never harp nor horn. 
Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with 

hand. 
Was like that music as it came ; and then 
Stream'd thro' my cell a cold and silver beam, 
And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail, 
Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive. 
Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed 
With rosy colors leaping on the wall ; 
And then the music faded, and the Grail 



\ 



^. 




-!r=^*% 




Past, and the beam decay'd, and from the walls 
The rosy quiverings died into the night. 
So now the Holy Thing is here again 
Among us, brother, fast thou too and pray. 
And tell thy brother knights to fast and pray. 
That so perchance the vision may be seen 
By thee and those, and all the world be heal'd.' 

" Then leaving the pale nun, I spake of this 
To all men ; and myself fasted and pray'd 
Always, and many among us many a week 
Fasted and pray'd even to the uttermost. 
Expectant of the wonder that would be. 

" And one there was among us, ever moved 
Among us in white armor, Galahad. 
' God make thee good as thou art beautiful,' 
Said Arthur, when he dubb"d him knight ; and 

none, 
In so young youth, was ever made a knight 
Till Galahad ; and this Galahad, when he heard 
My sister's vision, fiU'd me with amaze ; 
His eyes became so like her own, thev seem'd 
Hers, and himself her brother more than I. 

" Sister or brother none had he ; but some 
Caird him a son of Lancelot, and some said 
Begotten by enchantment — chatterers they. 
Like birds of passage piping up and down. 





That gape for flies — we know not whence they 

come ; 
For when was Lancelot wanderingly lewd? 



" But she, the wan sweet maiden, shore away 
Clean from her forehead all that wealth of hair 
Which made a silken mat-work for her feet ; 
\ And out of this she plaited broad and long 

Viy;? A strong sword-belt, and wove with silver thread 
And crimson in the belt a strange device, 
A crimson grail within a silver beam ; 
And saw the bright boy-knight, and bound it on 

him. 
Saying, ' My knight, my love, my knight of 

heaven, 
O thou, my love, whose love is one with mine, 
I, maiden, round thee, maiden, bind my belt. 
Go forth, for thou shalt see what I have seen, 
And break thro' all, till one will crown thee king 
Far in the spiritual city : ' and as she spake 
She sent the deathless passion in her eyes 
Thro' him, and made him hers, and laid her 

mind 
On him, and he believed in her belief. 



m 



" Then came a year of miracle : O brother, 
In our great hall there stood a vacant chair, 
Fashion'd by Merlin ere he past away, 
And carven with strange figures ; and in and out 



iSi^^ 




THE HOLY GKAIL. 



257 



The figures, like a serpent, ran a scroll 
Of letters in a tongue no man could read. 
And Merlin call'd it ' The Siege perilous,' 
Perilous for good and ill ; ' for there,' he said, 
• No man could sit but he should lose himself: ' 
And once by misadvertence Merlin sat 
In his own chair, and so was lost ; but he, 
Galahad, when he heard of Merlin's doom. 
Cried, ' If I lose myself, I save myself! ' 

" Then on a summer night it came to pass. 
While the great banquet lay along the hall. 
That Galahad would sit down in Merlin's chair. 

"And all at once, as there we sat, we heard 
A cracking and a riving of the roofs. 
And rending, and a blast, and overhead 
Thunder, and in the thunder was a cry. 
And in the blast there smote along the hall 
A beam of light seven times more clear than day : 
And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail 
All over cover'd with a luminous cloud. 
And none might see who bare it, and it past. 
But every knight beheld his fellow's face 
As in a glory, and all the knights arose. 
And staring each at other like dumb men 
Stood, till I found a voice and sware a vow. 

" I sware a vow before tliem all, that I, 
Because I had not seen the Grail, would ride 




)) .?*■ 







GRAIL. 



A twelvemonth and a day in quest of it, 
Until I found and saw it, as the nun 
My sister saw it ; and Galahad sware the vow, 
And good Sir Bors, our Lancelot's cousin, sware. 
And Lancelot sware, and many among the 

knights. 
And Gawain sware, and louder than the rest/' 



I -Oil 

\}iy. 



i\ 



Then spake the monk Ambrosius, asking him, 
■ What said the King ? Did Arthur take the 

vow ? " 








" Nay, for my lord,"' said Percivale, " the King, 
Was not in hall : for early that same day. 
Scaped thro' a cavern from a bandit hold. 
An outraged maiden sprang into the hall 
Crying on help : for all her shining hair 
Was smear'd with earth, and either milky arm 
Red-rent with hooks of bramble, and all she wore 
Torn as a sail that leaves the rope is torn 
In tempest : so the King arose and went 
To smoke the scandalous hive of those wild bees 
That made such honey in his realm. Howbeit 
Some little of this marvel he too saw 
Returning o'er the plain that then began 
To darken under Camelot ; whence the King 
Look'd up, calling aloud, ' Lo, there ! the roofs 
Of our great hall are roll'd in thunder-smoke I 
Prav Heaven, thev be not smitten bv the bolt.' 



I 




For dear to Arthur was that hall of ours, 
As having there so oft with all his knights 
Feasted, and as the stateliest under heaven. 



" O brother, had you known our mighty hall, 
Which Merlin built for Arthur long ago ! 
For all the sacred mount of Camelot, 
And all the dim rich city, roof by roof, 
Tower after tower, spire beyond spire. 
By grove, and garden-lawn, and rushing brook. 
Climbs to the mighty hall that Merlin built. 
And four great zones of sculpture, set betwixt 
With many a mystic symbol, gird the hall : 
And in the lowest beasts are slaying men, 
And in the second men are slaying beasts, 
And on the third are warriors, perfect men. 
And on the fourth are men with growing wings. 
And over all one statue in the mould 
Of Arthur, made by Merlin, with a crown. 
And peak'd wings pointed to the Northern Star. 
And eastward fronts the statue, and the crown 
And both the wings are made of gold, and flame 
At sunrise till the people in far fields. 
Wasted so often by the heathen hordes. 
Behold it, crying, ' We have still a King.' 



" And, brother, had you known our hall within, 
Broader and higher than any in all the lands ! 
Where twelve great windows blazon Arthur's 
wars, 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 

And all the light that falls upon the board 
Streams thro' the twelve great battles of our 

King. 
Nay, one there is, and at the eastern end. 
Wealthy with wandering lines of mount and mere. 
Where Arthur finds the brand Excalibur. 
And also one to the west, and counter to it. 
And blank : and who shall blazon it? when and 

how ? — 
O there, perchance, when all our wars are done, 
The brand Excalibur will be cast away. 



" So to this hall full quickly rode the King, 
In horror lest the work by Merlin wrought. 
Dreamlike, should on the sudden vanish, wrapt 
In unremorseful folds of rolling fire. 
And in he rode, and up I glanced, and saw 
The golden dragon sparkling over all : 
And many of those who burnt the hold, their 

arms 
Hack'd, and their foreheads grimed with smoke, 

and sear'd, 
Followed and in among bright faces, ours. 
Full of the vision, prest : and then the King 
Spake to me, being nearest, ' Percivale,'' 
(Because the hall was all in tumult — some 
Vowing, and some protesting), ' what is this?' 



?.\ 



" O brother, when I told him what had 
chanced. 




n 






0) 



t: 



My sister's vision, and the rest, his face 
Darkened, as I have seen it more than once. 
When some brave deed seem"d to be done in 

vain. 
Darken ; and ' Woe is me, my knights,' he cried, 
' Had I been here, ye had not sworn tlie vow/ 
Bold was mine answer, ' Had thyself been here. 
My King, thou wouldst have sworn.' ' Yea, 

yea,' said he, 
' Art thou so bold and hast not seen the Grail ? ' 

'' ' Nay, lord, I heard the sound, I saw the light, 
But since I did not see the Holy Thing, 
I sware a vow to follow it till I saw.' 

" Then when he ask'd us, knight by knight, 

if any 
Had seen it, all their answers were as one : 
' Nay, lord, and therefore have we sworn our 

vows.' 

" ' Lo now,' said Arthur, ' have ye seen a 
cloud ? 
What go ve into the wilderness to see ? ' 




" Then Galahad on the sudden, and in a voice 
Shrilling along the hall to Arthur, call'd, 
* But I, Sir Arthur, saw the Holy Grail, 
I saw the Holy Grail and heard a cry — 
" O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.'" 



;s"2^j 




" ' Ah, Galahad, Galahad,' said the King, ' for 

such 
As thou art is the vision, not for these. 
Thy holy nun and thou have seen a sign — 
Holier is none, my Percivale, than she — 
A sign to maim this Order which I made. 
But ye, that follow but the leader's bell ' 
(Brother, the King was hard upon his knights) 
' Taliessin is our fullest throat of song. 
And one hath sung and all the dumb will sing. 
Lancelot is Lancelot, and hath overborne 
Five kniglits at once, and every younger knight, 
Unproven, holds himself as Lancelot, 
J j Till overborne by one, he learns — and ye, 

What are ye? Galahads? — no, nor Percivales' 
(For thus it pleased the King to range me close 
After Sir Galahad) ; ' nay,' said he, ' but men 
With strength and will to right the wrong'd, of 

power 
To lay the sudden heads of violence flat. 
Knights that in twelve great battles splash'd and 

dyed 
The strong White Horse in his own heathen 

blood — 
But one hath seen, and all the blind will see. 
Go, since your vows are sacred, being made : 
Yet — for ye know the cries of all my realm 
Pass thro' this hall — how often, O my knights, 
Your places being vacant at my side. 




i i\ 




iv m^ 



This chance of noble deeds will come and go 
Unchallenged, while ye follow wandering fires 
Lost in the quagmire ! Many of you, yea most. 
Return no more : ye think I show myself 
Too dark a prophet : come now, let us meet 
The morrow morn once more in one full field 
Of gracious pastime, that once more the King, 
Before ye leave him for this Quest, may coun't 
The yet-unbroken strength oFall his knights. 
Rejoicing in that Order which he made.' 

" So when the sun broke next from under 
ground, 
All the great table of our Arthur closed 
And clash"d in such a tourney and so full. 
So many lances broken — never yet 
Had Camelot seen the like, since Arthur came ; 
And I myself and Galahad, for a strength 
Was in us from the vision, overthrew 
So many knights that all the people cried. 
And almost burst the barriers in their heat, 
Sliouting, ' Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale ! ' 

"But when the next day brake from under 
ground — 
O brother, had you known our Camelot, 
Built by old kings, age after age, so old 
The King himself had fears that it would fall. 
So strange, and rich, and dim; for where the 
roofs 



',u ,1 




THE HOLY GRAIL. 



Totter'd toward each other in the sky, 
Met foreheads all along the street of those 
Who watch'd us pass ; and lower, and where the 

long 
Rich galleries, lady-laden, weigh'd the necks 
Of dragons clinging to the crazy walls, 
Thicker than drops from thunder, showers of 

flowers 
Fell as we past ; and men and boys astride 
On wyvern, lion, dragon, griffin, swan, 
At all the corners, named us each by name. 
Calling ' God speed ! ' but in the ways below 
The knights and ladies wept, and rich and poor 
Wept, and the King himself could hardly speak 
For grief, and all in middle street the Queen, 
Who rode by Lancelot, waiPd and shriek'd aloud, 
' This madness has come on us for our sins.' 
So to the Gate of the three Queens we came. 
Where Arthur's wars are rendered mystically. 
And thence departed every one his way. 



\ 



1 



I) 



" And I was lifted up in heart, and thought 
Of all my late-shown prowess in the lists. 
How my strong lance had beaten down the 

knights. 
So many and famous names ; and never yet 
Had heaven appear'd so blue, nor earth so green, 
For all my blood danced in me, and I knew 
That I should light upon the Holy Grail. ^ 



5 



^ 'tM^ 




THE HOLY GRAIL. 



% 



B) 



k 



" Thereafter, the dark warning of our King, 
That most of us would follow wandering tires, 
Came like a driving gloom across my mind. 
Then every evil word I had spoken once. 
And every evil thought I had thought of old. 
And every evil deed I ever did. 
Awoke and cried, 'This Quest is not for thee.' 
And lifting up mine eyes, I found myself 
Alone, and in a land of sand and thorns. 
And I was thirsty even unto death ; 
And I, too, cried, ' This Guest is not for thee.' 

•' And on I rode, and when I thought my thirst 
Would slay me, saw deep lawns, and then a brook. 
With one sharp rapid, where tiie crisping white 
Play'd ever back upon the sloping wave, 
And took both ear and eye ; and o'er the brook 
Were apple-trees, and apples by the brook 
Fallen, and on the lawns. ' I will rest here,' 
I said, ' I am not worthy of the Quest ; ' 
But even while I drank the brook, and ate 
The goodly apples, all these things at once 
Fell into dust, and I was left alone. 
And thirsting, in a land of sand and thorns. 

" And then behold a woman at a door 
Spinning ; and fair the house whereby she sat. 
And kind the woman's eyes and innocent. 
And all her bearing gracious ; and she rose 




V^s?y 



Opening her arms to meet me, as who should 

say, 
' Rest here ; ' but when I touched her, lo ! she, 

too 
Fell into dust and nothing, and the house 
Became no better than a broken shed, 
And in it a dead babe ; and also this 
Fell into dust, and I was left alone. 

" And on I rode, and greater was my thirst. 
Then flashed a yellow gleam across the world. 
And where it smote the ploughshare in the field, 
The ploughman left his ploughing, and fell down 
Before it ; where it glitterd on her pail, 
The milkmaid left her milking, and fell down 
Before it, and I knew not why, but thought 
' The sun is rising,' tho' the sun had risen. 
Then was I ware of one that on me moved 
In golden armor with a crown of gold 
About a casque all jewels ; and his horse 
In golden armor jewell'd everywhere : 
And on the splendor came, flashing me blind ; 
And seem'd to me the Lord of all the world. 
Being so huge. But when I thought he meant 
To crush me, moving on me, lo ! he, too, 
Open'd his arms to embrace me as he came. 
And up I went and touched him, and he, too, 
Fell into dust, and I was left alone 
And wearying in a land of sand and thorns. 



R 














" And I rode on and found a mighty hill, 
And on the top, a city walPd : the spires 
Prick'd with incredible pinnacles into heaven. 
And by the gateway stirr"d a crowd ; and these 
Cried to me climbing. ' Welcome, Percivale ! 
Thou mightiest and thou purest among men ! ' 
And glad was I and clomb, but found at top 
No man, nor any voice. And thence I past 
Far thro' a ruinous city, and I saw 
That man had once dwelt there ; but there I 

found 
Only one man of an exceeding age. 
' Where is that goodly company,' said I, 
' That so cried out upon me ? ' and he had 
Scarce any voice to answer, and yet gasp'd 
' Whence and what art thou ? ' and even as he 

spoke 
Fell into dust, and disappeared, and I 
Was left alone once more, and cried in grief, 
' Lo, if I find the Holy Grail itself 
And touch it, it will crumble into dust.' 

" And thence I dropt into a lowly vale, 
Low as the hill was high, and where the vale 
Was lowest, found a chapel, and thereby 
A holy hermit in a hermitage, 
To whom I told my phantoms, and he said: 

" ' O son, thou hast not true humility, 
The highest virtue, mother of them all ; 








For when the Lord of all tilings made himself 

Naked of glory for his mortal change, 

"Take thou my robe," she said, "for all is 

thine," 
And all her form shone forth with sudden light 
So that the angels were amazed, and she 
Followed Him down, and like a flying star 
Led on the gray-hair'd wisdom of the east ; 
But her thou hast not known : for what is this 
Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins ? 
Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself 
As Galahad.' When the hermit made an end. 
In silver armor suddenly Galahad shone 
Before us, and against the chapel door 
Laid lance, and enter'd, and we knelt in prayer. 
And there the hermit slaked my burning thirst, 
And at the sacring of the mass 1 saw 
The holy elements alone ; but he, 
' Saw ye no more? I, Galahad, saw the Grail, 
The Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine : 
I saw the fiery face as of a child 
That smote itself into the bread, and went ; 
And hither am I come ; and never yet 
Hath what thy sister taught me first to see. 
This Holy Thing, faiPd from my side, nor come 
Cover'd, but moving with me night and day. 
Fainter by day, but always in the night 
Blood-red, and sliding down the blacken'd marsh 
Blood-red, and on the naked mountain top 



1 



I 



^ 



^ 



c)^/ 







Blood-red, and in the sleeping mere below 
Blood-red. And in the strength of this I rode, 
Shattering all evil customs everywhere, 
And past thro' Pagan realms, and made them 

mine, 
And clashed with Pagan hordes, and bore them 

down. 
And broke thro' all, and in the strength of this 
Come victor. But my time is hard at hand. 
And hence I go ; and one will crown me king 
Far in the spiritual city ; and come thou, too, 
For thou shalt see the vision when I gro.' 



" While thus he spake, his eye, dwelling on 
mine. 
Drew me, with power upon me, till I grew 
One with him, to believe as he believed. 
Then, when the day began to wane, we went. 



" There rose a hill that none but man could 
climb, 
Scarr'd with a hundred wintry water-courses — 
Storm at the top, and when we gain"d it, storm 
Round us and death ; for every moment glanced 
His silver arms and gloom'd : so quick and thick 
The lightnings here and there to left and right 
Struck, till the dry old trunks about us, dead. 
Yea, rotten with a hundred years of death. 
Sprang into fire : and at the base we found 



On either hand, as far as eye could see, 
A great black swamp and of an evil smell. 
Part black, part whiten'd with the bones of men, 
Not to be crost, save that some ancient king 
Had built a way, where, link'd with many a 

bridge, 
A thousand piers ran into the great Sea. 
And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge. 
And every bridge as quickly as he crost 
Sprang into fire and vanished, tho' I yearn'd 
To follow ; and thrice above him all the heavens 
Open'd and blazed with thunder such as seem'd 
Shoutings of all the sons of God : and first 
At once I saw him far on the great Sea, 
In silver-shining armor starry-clear; 
And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung 
Clothed in white samite or a luminous cloud. 
And with exceeding swiftness ran the boat, 
If boat it were — I saw not whence it came. 
And when the heavens open'd and blazed again 
Roaring, I saw him like a silver star — 
And had he set the sail, or had the boat 
Become a living creature clad with wings ? 
And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung 
Redder than any rose, a joy to me, 
For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn. 
Then in a moment when they blazed again 
Opening, I saw the least of little stars 
Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star 




I 



I saw the spiritual city and all her spires 
And gateways in a glory like one pearl — 
No larger, the' the goal of all the saints — 
Strike from the sea ; and from the star there shot 
A rose-red sparkle to the city, and there 
Dwelt, and I knew it was the Holy Grail, 
Which never eyes on earth again shall see. 
Then fell the floods of heaven drowning the deep. 
And how my feet recrost the deathful ridge 
No memory in me lives ; but that I touch'd 
The chapel-doors at dawn I know ; and thence 
Taking my war-horse from the lioly man, 
Glad tliat no phantom vext me more, return'd 
To whence I came, the gate of Arthur's wars." 



^ 



r 



"O brother," ask'd Ambrosias, — "for in 

sooth 
These ancient books — and they would win 

thee — teem. 
Only I find not there this Holy Grail, 
With miracles and marvels like to these, 
Not all unlike ; which oftentime I read. 
Who read but on my breviary with ease. 
Till my head swims ; and then go forth and pass 
Down to the little thorpe that lies so close. 
And almost plastered like a martin's nest 
To these old walls — and mingle with our folk; 
And knowing every honest face of theirs 
As well as ever shepherd knew his sheep, 




And every homely secret in their hearts, 
Delight myself with gossip and old wives, 
And ills and aches, and teethings, lyings-in, 
And mirthful sayings, children of the place, 
That have no meaning half a league away : 
Or lulling random squabbles when they rise, 
Chafferings and chatterings at the market-cross, 
Rejoice, small man, in this small world of mine, 
Yea, even in their hens and in their eggs — 
O brother, saving this Sir Galahad, 
Came ye on none but phantoms in your quest. 
No man, no woman? " 



Then Sir Percivale : 
" All men, to one so bound by such a vow, 
And women were as phantoms. O, my brother. 
Why wilt thou shame me to confess to thee 
How far I falter'd from my quest and vow ? 
For after I had lain so many nights, 
A bedmate of the snail and eft and snake. 
In grass and burdock, I was changed to wan 
And meagre, and the vision had not come ; 
And then I chanced upon a goodly town 
With one great dwelling in the middle of it ; 
Thither I made, and there was I disarmed 
By maidens each as fair as any flower : 
But when they led me into hall, behold. 
The Princess of that castle was the one. 
Brother, and that one only, who had ever 




Made my heart leap ; for when I moved of old 
A slender page about her father's hall, 
And she a slender maiden, all my heart 
Went after her with longing : yet we twain 
Had never kiss'd a kiss, or vowM a vow. 
And now I came upon her once again. 
And one had wedded her, and he was dead, 
And all his land and wealth and state were hers. 
And while I tarried, every day she set 
A banquet richer than the day before 
By me ; for all her longing and her will 
Was toward me as of old ; till one fair morn, 
I walking to and fro beside a stream 
That tlash"d across her orchard underneath 
Her castle-walls, she stole upon my walk, 
And calling me the greatest of all knights, 
Embraced me, and so kiss'd me the first time, 
And gave herself and all her wealth to me. 
Then I remember'd Arthur's warning word, 
That most of us would follow wandering fires. 
And the Quest faded in my heart. Anon, 
The heads of all her people drew to me. 
With supplication both of knees and tongue : 
' We have heard of thee : thou art our greatest 

knight. 
Our Lady says it, and we well believe : 
Wed thou our Lady, and rule over us. 
And thou shalt be as Arthur in our land.' 
O me, my brother ! but one night my vow 



Ji .5^ 







5 




^^<s^g^ 




Burnt me within, so that I rose and tied. 

But waird and wept, and hated mine own self, 

And ev'n the Holy Quest, and all but her; 

Then after I was join'd with Galahad 

Cared not for her, nor anything upon earth." 



Then said the monk, "Poor men, when yule 

is cold, 
Must be content to sit by little fires. 
And this am I. so that ye care for me 
Ever so little ; yea, and blest be Heaven 
That brought thee here to this poor house of 

ours 
Where all the brethren are so hard, to warm 
My cold heart with a friend : but O the pity 
To find thine own first love once more — to hold. 
Hold her a wealthy bride within thine arms, 
Or all but hold, and then — cast her aside. 
Foregoing all her sweetness, like a weed. 
For we that want the warmth of double life. 
We that are plagued with dreams of something 

sweet 
Beyond all sweetness in a life so rich, — 
Ah, blessed Lord, I speak too earthlywise. 
Seeing I never stray'd beyond the cell. 
But live like an old badger in his earth, 
With earth about him everywhere, despite 
All fast and penance. Saw ye none beside. 
None of your knights ? " 



I 



^^>;::^^:^S^ 




" Yea so," said Percivale : 
" One night my pathway swerving east, I saw 
The pelican on the casque of our Sir Bors 
All in the middle of the rising moon : 
And toward him spurr'd, and hail'd him, and he 

me, 
And each made joy of either; then he ask'd, 
'Where is he? hast thou seen him — Lance- 
lot? — Once,' 
Said good Sir Bors, ' he dash'd across me — mad. 
And maddening what he rode : and when I 

cried, 
" Ridest thou then so hotly on a quest 
So holy," Lancelot shouted, " Stay me not ! 
I have been the sluggard, and I ride apace, 
For now there is a lion in the way." 
So vanished/ 



" Then Sir Bors had ridden on 
Softly, and sorrowing for our Lancelot, 
Because his former madness, once the talk 
And scandal of our table, had return'd ; 
For Lancelot's kith and kin so worship him 
That ill to him is ill to them ; to Bors 
Beyond the rest : he well had been content 
Not to have seen, so Lancelot might have 

seen. 
The Holy Cup of healing; and, indeed, 
Beins: so clouded with his grief and love, 



<? 




Small heart was his after the Holy Quest : 
If God would send the vision, well : if not, 
The Ouest and he were in the hands of Heaven. 




" And then, with small adventure met. Sir Bors 
Rode to the lonest tract of all the realm, 
And found a people there among their crags, 
Our race and blood, a remnant that were left 
Paynim amid their circles, and the stones 
They pitch up straight to heaven : and their wise 

men 
Were strong in that old magic which can trace 
The wandering of the stars, and scoff'd at him 
And this high Quest as at a simple thing : 
Told him he followed — almost Arthur's words ^ 
A mocking fire : ' what other fire than he. 
Whereby the blood beats, and the blossom blows. 
And the sea rolls, and all the world is warm'd ? ' 
And when his answer chafed them, the rough 

crowd. 
Hearing he had a difference with their priests. 
Seized him, and bound and plunged him into a 

cell 
Of great piled stones ; and lying bounden there 
In darkness thro' innumerable hours 
He heard the hollow-ringing heaven sweep 
Over him till by miracle — what else? — 
Heavy as it was, a great stone slipt and fell. 
Such as no wind could move : and thro' the gap 








Glimmer'd the streaming scud : then came 

night 
Still as the day was loud ; and thro' the gap 
The seven clear stars of Arthurs Table Round — 
For, brother, so one night, because they roll 
Thro' such a round in heaven, we named the 

stars, 
Rejoicing in ourselves and in our King — 
And these, like bright eyes of familiar friends, 
In on him shone : ' And then to me, to me,' 
Said good Sir Bors, ' beyond all hopes of mine. 
Who scarce had pray'd or ask"d it for myself — 
Across the seven clear stars — O grace to me — 
In color like the fingers of a hand 
Before a burning taper, the sweet Grail 
Glided and past, and close upon it peal'd 
A sharp quick thunder.' Afterwards, a maid. 
Who kept our holy faith among her kin 
In secret, entering, loosed and let him go." 




To whom the monk : ■' And I remember now 
That pelican on the casque : Sir Bors it was 
Who spake so low and sadly at our board ; 
And mighty reverent at our grace was he : 
A square-set man and honest ; and his eyes. 
An out-door sign of all the warmth within. 
Smiled with his lips — a smile beneath a cloud. 
But heaven had meant it for a sunny one : 
Av, av, Sir Bors, who else ? But when ye reach"d 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 

The city, found ye all your knights return'd. 
Or was there sooth in Arthur's prophecy, 
Tell me, and what said each, and what the 
King?"' 

Then answer'd Percivale : " And that can I, 
Brother, and truly ; since the living words 
Of so great men as Lancelot and our King 
Pass not from door to door and out again. 
But sit within the house. O, when we reach'd 
The city, our horses stumbling as they trode 
On heaps of ruin, hornless unicorns, 
Crack'd basihsks, and splinter'd cockatrices. 
And shattered talbots, which had left the stones 
Raw, that they fell from, brought us to the hall. 



U 



"And there sat Arthur on the dais-throne. 
And those that had gone out upon the (2uest, 
Wasted and worn, and but a tithe of them, 
And those that had not, stood before the King, 
Who, when he saw me, rose, and bade me hail, 
Saying, ' A welfare in thine eye reproves 
Our fear of some disastrous chance for thee 
On hill, or plain, at sea, or flooding ford. 
So fierce a gale made havoc here of late 
Among the strange devices of our kings ; 
Yea, shook this newer, stronger hall of ours. 
And from the statue Merlin moulded for us 
Half-wrench'd a golden wins ; but now — the 
Quest, 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 



This vision — hast thou seen the Holy Cup, 
That Joseph brought of old to Glastonbury? ' 

" So when I told him all thyself hast heard, 
Ambrosius, and my fresh but fixt resolve 
To pass away into the quiet life. 
He answer'd not, but, sharply turning, ask'd 
Of Gawain, ' Gawain, was this Quest for thee?' 

" ' Nay, lord,' said Gawain, ' not for such as I. 
Therefore I communed with a saintly man. 
Who made me sure the Quest was not for me ; 
For I was much awearied of the Quest : 
But found a silk pavilion in a field, 
y ^ And merry maidens in it ; and then this gale 
Tore my pavilion from the tenting-pin. 
And blew my merry maidens all about 
With all discomfort ; yea, and but for this. 
My twelvemonth and a day were pleasant to me.' 

•' He ceased ; and Arthur turn'd to whom at 
first 
He saw not, for Sir Bors, on entering, push'd 
Athwart the throng to Lancelot, caught his hand. 
Held it, and there, half-hidden by him, stood, 
Until the King espied him, saying to him, 
' Hail, Bors ! if ever loyal man and true 
Could see it. thou hast seen the Grail ; ' and Bors, 
• Ask me not, for I may not speak of it : 
I saw it ; ' and the tears were in his eves. 





"Then there remained but Lancelot, for the 

rest 
Spake but of sundry perils in the storm ; 
Perhaps, like him of Cana in Holy Writ, 
Our Arthur kept his best until the last ; 
' Thou, too, my Lancelot.' ask'd the King, ' my 

friend, 
Our mightiest, hath this Quest avail'd for thee?' 



, " ' Our mightiest ! ' answer'd Lancelot, with a 

groan ; 
' O King ! ' — and when he paused, methought I 

spied 
A dying fire of madness in his eyes — 
' O King, my friend, if friend of thine I be. 
Happier are those that welter in their sin. 
Swine in the mud, that cannot see for slime. 
Slime of the ditch : but in me lived a sin 
So strange, of such a kind, that all of pure. 
Noble, and knightly in me twined and clung 
Round that one sin, until the wholesome flower 
And poisonous grew together, each as each, 
Not to be pluck'd asunder ; and when thy knights 
Sware, I sware with them only in the hope 
That could I touch or see the Holy Grail 
They might be pluck'd asunder. Then I spake 
To one most holy saint, who wept and said. 
That save they could be pluck'd asunder, all 
My quest were but in vain ; to whom I vow'd 



5 



5^^:/»fc 




That I would work according as he wilTd. 

And forth I went, and while I yearn'd and strove 

To tear the twain asunder in my heart. 

My madness came upon me as of old, 

And whipt me into waste fields far away ; 

There was I beaten down by little men. 

Mean knights, to whom the moving of my sword 

And shadow of my spear had been enow 

To scare them from me once ; and then I came 

All in my folly to the naked shore. 

Wide flats, where nothing but coarse grasses 

grew ; 
But such a blast, my King, began to blow. 
So loud a blast along the shore and sea. 
Ye could not hear the waters for the blast, 
Tho' heapt in mounds and ridges all the sea 
Drove like a cataract, and all the sand 
Swept like a river, and the clouded heavens 
Were shaken with the motion and the sound. 
And blackening m the sea-foam sway'd a boat, 
Half-swallow'd in it, anchor'd with a chain ; 
And in my madness to myself I said, 
' ' I will embark and I will lose myself. 
And in the great sea wash away my sin." 
I burst the chain, I sprang into the boat. 
Seven days I drove along the dreary deep, 
And with me drove the moon and all the stars ; 
And the wind fell, and on the seventh night 
1 heard the shingle grinding in the surge. 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 



% 



And felt the boat shock earth, and looking up, 

Behold, the enchanted towers of Carbonek, 

A castle like a rock upon a rock. 

With chasm-like portals open to the sea, 

And steps that met the breaker ! there was none 

Stood near it but a lion on each side 

That kept the entry, and the moon was full. 

Then from the boat I leapt, and up the stairs. 

There drew my sword. With sudden-flaring 

manes 
Those two great beasts rose upright like a man, 
Each gript a shoulder, and I stood between ; 
And, when I would have smitten them, heard a 

voice, 
" Doubt not, go forward ; if thou doubt, the 

beasts 
Will tear thee piecemeal."' Then with violence 
The sword was dashYl from out my hand, and 

fell. 
And up into the sounding hall I past ; 
But nothing in the sounding hall I saw. 
No bench nor table, painting on the wall 
Or shield of knight ; only the rounded moon 
Thro' the tall oriel on the rolling sea. 
But always in the quiet house I heard, 
Clear as a lark, high o'er me as a lark, 
A sweet voice singing in the topmost tower 
To the eastward : up I climb'd a thousand steps 
With pain : as in a dream I seem"d to climb 



I 
; 



S5^^ 




For ever : at the last I reached a door, 
A light was in the crannies, and I heard, 
" Glory and joy and honor to our Lord 
And to the Holy Vessel of the Grail." 
Then in my madness I essay'd the door ; 
It gave ; and thro' a stormy glare, a heat 
As from a seventimes-heated furnace, I, 
Blasted and burnt, and blinded as I was, 
With such a fierceness that I swoon'd away^ — 
O, yet methought I saw the Holy Grail, 
All paird in crimson samite, and around 
Great angels, awful shapes, and wings and eyes. 
And but for all my madness and my sin, 
And then my swooning, I had sworn I saw 
That which I saw ; but what I saw was veiPd 
And covered ; and this Quest was not for me.' 



" So speaking, and here ceasing, Lancelot left 
The hall long silent, till Sir Gawain — nay. 
Brother, I need not tell thee foolish words, — 
A reckless and irreverent knight was he. 
Now bolden'd by the silence of his King, — 
Well, I will tell thee : ' O King, my liege,' he 

said, 
' Hath Gawain fail'd in any quest of thine ? 
When have I stinted stroke in foughten field? 
But as for thine, my good friend Percivale, 
Thy holy nun and thou have driven men mad. 
Yea, made our mightiest madder than our least. 








But by mine eyes and by mine ears I swear, 
I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, 
And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, 
To holy virgins in their ecstasies, 
Henceforward.' 

" ' Deafer,' said the blameless King, 
• Gawain, and blinder unto holy things 
Hope not to make thyself by idle vows. 
Being too blind to have desire to see. 
But if indeed there came a sign from heaven, 
Blessed are Bors, Lancelot and Percivale, 
For these have seen according to their sight. 
For every fiery prophet in old times, 
And all the sacred madness of the bard. 
When God made music thro' them, could but 

speak 
His music by the framework and the chord ; 
And as ye saw it ye have spoken truth. 






"'Nay — but thou errest, Lancelot: never 
yet 
Could all of true and noble in knight and man 
Twine round one sin, whatever it might be. 
With such a closeness, but apart there grew. 
Save that he were the swine thou spakest of. 
Some root of knighthood and pure nobleness ; 
Whereto see thou, that it may bear its flower. 



J 



(G) 



0) 

m 

V'.' 



" 'And spake I not too truly, O my knights? 
Was I too dark a prophet when I said 
To those who went upon the Holy Quest, 
That most of them would follow wandering tires, 
Lost in the quagmire? — lost to me and gone, 
And left me gazing at a barren board. 
And a lean Order — scarce returned a tithe — 
And out of those to whom the vision came 
My greatest hardly will believe he saw ■ 
Another hath beheld it afar off, 
And leaving human wrongs to right themselves, 
Cares but to pass into tlie silent life. 
And one hath had the vision face to face. 
And now his chair desires him here in vain. 
However they may crown him otherwhere. 

" ' And some among you held, that if the King 
Had seen the sight he would have sworn the vow : 
Not easily, seeing that the King must guard 
That which he rules, and is but as the hind 
To whom a space of land is given to plough. 
Who may not wander from the allotted field 
Before his work be done ; but, being done. 
Let visions of the night or of the day 
Come, as they will ; and many a time they 

come. 
Until this earth he walks on seems not earth, 
This light that strikes his eyeball is not light, 
This air that smites his forehead is not air 







But vision — yea, his very hand and foot — 
In moments when he feels he cannot die, 
And knows himself no vision to himself. 
Nor the high God a vision, nor that One 
Who rose again : ye have seen what ye have 
seen.' 

" So spake the King : I knew not all he meant.'' 



■4 




"5; 










PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 287 






•7 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

King Arthur made new knights to fill the gap 
Left by the Holy Quest ; and as he sat 
In hall at old Caerleon, the high doors 
Were softly sunder'd and thro' these a youth, 
Pelleas, and the sweet smell of the fields 
Past, and the sunshine came along with him. 

"Make me thy knight, because I know. Sir 

King, 
All that belongs to knighthood, and I love." 
Such was his cry: for having heard the Kmg 
Had let proclaim a tournament — the prize 
A golden circlet and a knightly sword, 
Full fain had Pelleas for his lady won 
The golden circlet, for himself the sword : 
And there were those who knew hnn near the 

King, 
And promised for him : and Arthur made him 

knight. 





And lord of many a barren isle was he — 
Riding at noon, a day or twain before, 
Across the forest call'd of Dean, to find 
Caerleon and the King, had felt the sun 
Beat like a strong i<night on his helm, and 

reel'd 
Almost to falling from his horse ; but saw 
Near him a mound of even-sloping side. 
Whereon a hundred stately beeches grew, 
And here and there great hollies under them ; 
But for a mile all round was open space. 
And fern and heath : and slowly Pelleas drew 
To that dim day, then binding his good horse 
To a tree, cast himself down ; and as he lay 
At random looking over the brown earth 
Thro' that green-glooming twilight of the grove, 
It seem'd to Pelleas that the fern without 
Burnt as a living fire of emeralds, 
So that his eyes were dazzled looking at it. 
Then o'er it crost the dimness of a cloud 
Floating, and once the shadow of a bird 
Flying, and then a fawn ; and his eyes closed. 
And since he loved all maidens, but no maid 
In special, half-awake he whisper'd, "Where? 
O where? I love thee, tho' I know thee not. 
For fair thou art and pure as Guinevere, 
And I will make thee with my spear and sword 
As famous — O my Queen, my Guinevere, 
For I will be thine Arthur when we meet." 




t 



I 




Suddenly wakened with a sound of talk 
And laughter at the limit of the wood, 
And glancing thro' the hoary boles, he saw, 
Strange as to some old prophet might have 

seem'd 
A vision hovering on a sea of fire. 
Damsels in divers colors like the cloud 
Of sunset and sunrise, and all of them 
On horses, and the horses richly trapt 
Breast-high in that bright line of bracken stood : 
And all the damsels talk'd confusedly, 
And one was pointing this way, and one that. 
Because the way was lost. 

And Pelleas rose, 
And loosed his horse, and led him to the light. 
There she that seem'd the chief among them said, 
" In happy time behold our pilot-star! 
Youth, we are damsels-errant, and we ride, 
Arm'd as ye see, to tilt against the knights 
There at Caerleon, but have lost our way : 
To right ? to left ? straight forward ? back again ? 
Which? tell us quickly." 

And Pelleas gazing thought, 
" Is Guinevere herself so beautiful? '" 
For large her violet eyes look'd, and her bloom 
A rosy dawn kindled in stainless heavens. 
And round her limbs, mature in womanhood ; 









r 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 



And slender was her hand and small her shape ; 
And but for those large eyes, the haunts of 

scorn, 
She might have seem'd a toy to trifle with. 
And pass and care no more. But while he gazed 
The beauty of her flesh abashM the boy. 
As tho' it were the beauty of her soul : 
For as the base man, judging of the good. 
Puts his own baseness in him by default 
Of will and nature, so did Pelleas lend 
All the young beauty of his own soul to hers. 
Believing her ; and when she spake to him, 
Stammer'd, and could not make her a reply. 
For out of the waste islands had he come. 
Where saving his own sisters he had known 
Scarce any but the women of his isles. 
Rough wives, that laugh'd and scream'd against 

the gulls, 
Makers of nets, and living from the sea. 

Then with a slow smile turn'd the lady round 
And look'd upon her people ; and as when 
A stone is flung into some sleeping tarn. 
The circle widens till it lip the marge. 
Spread the slow smile thro' all her company. 
Three knights were thereamong ; and they too 

smiled. 
Scorning him ; for the lady was Ettarre, 
And she was a great lady in her land. 



J?2^j 





Again she said, " O wild and of the woods, 
Knowest thou not the fashion of our speech? 
Or have the Heavens but given thee a fair face, 
Lacking a tongue ? " 

" O damsel," answer'd he, 
" I woke from dreams ; and coming out of gloom 
Was dazzled by the sudden light, and crave 
Pardon : but will ye to Caerleon ? I 
Go likewise : shall I lead you to the King?" 

" Lead then," she said; and thro' the woods 

they went. 
And while they rode, the meaning in his eyes, 
His tenderness of manner, and chaste awe, 
His broken utterances and bashfulness. 
Were all a burthen to her, and in her heart 
She mutter'd, " I have lighted on a fool. 
Raw, yet so stale ! " But since her mind was 

bent 
On hearing, after trumpet blown, her name 
And title, " Queen of Beauty," in the lists 
Cried — and beholding him so strong, she 

thought 
That peradventure he will fight for me. 
And win the circlet : therefore flatter'd him. 
Being so gracious, that he wellnigh deemed 
His wish by hers was echo'd ; and her knights 
And all her damsels too were gracious to him, 
For she was a great ladv. 




?2^; 






O o. 



B 



292 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

And when they reached 
Caerleon, ere they past to lodging, she, 
Taking his hand, " O the strong hand," she said, 
" See ! look at mine ! but wilt thou fight for me, 
And win me this fine circlet, Pelleas, 
That I may love thee ? " 

Then his helpless heart 
Leapt, and he cried, " Ay ! wilt thou if I win? " 
" Ay, that will I," she answer'd, and she laugh'd, 
And straightly nipt the hand, and flung it from 

her ; 
Then glanced askew at those three knights of 

hers. 
Till all her ladies laugh'd along with her. 

" O happy world," thought Pelleas, " all, me- 

seems. 
Are happy ; I the happiest of them all." 
Nor slept that night for pleasure in his blood, 
And green wood-ways, and eyes among the 

leaves ; 
Then being on the morrow knighted, sware 
To love one only. And as he came away, 
The men who met him rounded on their heels 
And wonder'd after him, because his face 
Shone like the countenance of a priest of old 
Against the flame about a sacrifice 
Kindled bv fire from heaven : so glad was he. 





Then Arthur made vast banquets, and strange 

knights 

From the four winds came in : and each one sat. 
Tho' served with choice from air, land, stream. 

and sea. 
Oft in mid-banquet measuring with his eyes 
His neighbor's make and might : and Pelleas 

look'd 
Noble among the noble, for he dream'd 
His lady loved him, and he knew himself 
Loved of the King : and him his new-made 

knight 
Worshipt, whose lightest whisper moved him 

more 
Than all the ranged reasons of the world. 

Then blush'd and brake the morning of the 

jousts. 
And this was call'd " The Tournament of 

Youth : " 
For Arthur, loving his young knight, withheld 
His older and his mightier from the lists. 
That Pelleas might obtain his lady's love. 
According to her promise, and remain 
Lord of the tourney. And Arthur had the jousts 
Down in the flat field by the shore of Usk 
Holden : the gilded parapets were crown'd 
With fiices, and the great tower fill'dwith eyes 
Up to the summit, and the trumpets blew. 









PELLEAS AND ETTARKE. 



There all day long Sir Pelleas kept the field 
With honor : so by that strong hand of his 
The sword and golden circlet were achieved. 



Then rang the shout his lady loved : the heat 
Of pride and glory fired her face ; her eye 
Sparkled ; she caught the circlet from his lance, 
And there before the people crown'd herself: 
So for the last time she was gracious to him. 

Then at Caerleon for a space — her look 
Bright for all others, cloudier on her knight — 
Linger'd Ettarre : and seeing Pelleas droop, 
Said Guinevere, " We marvel at thee much, 

damsel, wearing this unsunny face 

To him who won thee glory ! " And she said, 
" Had ye not held your Lancelot in your bower. 
My Queen, he had not won."' Whereat the 

Queen, 
As one whose foot is bitten by an ant, 
Glanced down upon her, turned and went her 

way. 

But after, when her damsels, and herself, 
And those three knights all set their faces home. 
Sir Pelleas followed. She that saw him cried, 
" Damsels — and 3-et I should be shamed to say 
it — 

1 cannot bide Sir Baby. Keep him back 



% 



''cJi 





/ 



Among yourselves. Would rather that we had 
Some rough old knight who knew the worldly 

wa}', 
Albeit grizzlier than a bear, to ride 
And jest with : take him to you, keep him off, 
And pamper him with papmeat, if ye will. 
Old milky fables of the wolf and sheep, 
Such as the wholesome mothers tell their boys. 
Nay, should ye try him with a merry one 
To find his mettle good : and if he tiy us. 
Small matter! let him."' This her damsels 

heard. 
And mindful of her small and cruel hand, 
They, closing round him thro' the journey home. 
Acted her hest, and always from her side 
Restrain'd him with all manner of device. 
So that he could not come to speech with her. 
And when she gain'd her castle, upsprang the 

bridge, 
Down rang the grate of iron thro' the groove. 
And he was left alone in open field. 

" Thesebe the ways of ladies," Pelleas thought, 
" To those who love them, trials of our faith. 
Yea, let her prove me to the uttermost, 
For loyal to the uttermost am I." 
So made his moan ; and, darkness falling, sought 
A priory not far off, there lodged, but rose 
With morning every day, and, moist or dry. 



\ 





^J 



Full-armed upon his charger all day long 
Sat by the walls, and no one open'd to him. 

And this persistence turn'd her scorn to wrath. 
Then calling her three knights, she charged 

them, " Out! 
And drive him from the walls." And out they 

came. 
But Pelleas overthrew them as they dash'd 
Against him one by one ; and these returned, 
But still he kept his watch beneath the wall. 

Thereon her wrath became a hate ; and once, 
A week beyond, while walking on the walls 
With her three knights, she pointed downward, 

' ' Look , 
He haunts me — I cannot breathe — besieges 

me ; 
Down ! strike him ! put my hate into your strokes. 
And drive him from my walls." And down they 

went. 
And Pelleas overthrew them one by one ; 
And from the tower above him cried Ettarre, 
" Bind him, and bring him in." 



He heard her voice : 
j^!'f Then let the strong hand, which had overthrown 
Her minion-knights, by those he overthrew 
Bebounden straight, and so thev brought him in. 

Ill 




PEL LEAS AA'D ETTARRE. 297 



P) 



•:e>' 






f 






M 

m 



f 



1:1 



Then when he came before Ettarre, the sight 
Of her rich beauty made him at one glance 
More bondsman in his heart than in his bonds. 
Yet with good cheer he spake, " Behold me. 

Lady, 
A prisoner, and the vassal of thy will ; 
And if thou keep me in thy donjon here, 
Content am I so that I see thy face 
But once a day : for I have sworn my vows, 
And thou hast given thy promise, and I know 
That all these pains are trials of my faith. 
And that thyself, when thou hast seen me 

strain'd 
And sifted to the utmost, will at length 
Yield me thy love and know me for thy knight/' 

Then she began to rail so bitterly. 
With all her damsels, he was stricken mute ; 
But when she mock'd his vows- and the great 

King, 
Lighted on words : " For pity of thine own self. 
Peace, Lady, peace : is he not thine and mine? "" 
" Thou fool," she said, " I never heard his voice 
But long'd to break away. Unbind him now, 
And thrust him out of doors ; for save he be 
Fool to the midmost marrow of his bones, 
I?e will return no more." And those, her three, 
Laugh'd, and unbound, and thrust him from the 
gate. 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 



m 



And after this, a week beyond, again 
She calPd them, saying, " There he watches yet, 
There hke a dog before his master's door ! 
Kick'd, he returns: do ye not hate him, ye? 
Ye know yourselves : how can ye bide at peace, 
Affronted with his fulsome innocence ? 
Are ye but creatures of the board and bed, 
No men to strike? Fall on him all at once, 
And if ye slay him 1 reck not : if ye fail. 
Give ye the slave mine order to be bound. 
Bind him as heretofore, and bring him in : 
It may be ye shall slay him in his bonds." 

She spake ; and at her will they couch'd their 
spears, 
Three against one : and Gawain passing by. 
Bound upon solitary adventure, saw 
Low down beneath the shadow of those towers 
A villainy, three to one : and thro" his heart 
The fire of honor and all noble deeds 
FlashM, and he call'd, " I strike upon thy side — 
The caitiffs! " " Nay," said Pelleas, " but for- 
bear ; 
He needs no aid who doth his lady's will." 

So Gawain, looking at the villainy done. 
Forbore, but in his heat and eagerness. 
Trembled and quiver'd, as the dog, withheld 
A moment from the vermin that he sees 
Before him, shivers, ere he springs and kills. 



'?\ 






// 



And Pelleas overthrew them, one to three ; 
And they rose up, and bound and brought him in. 
Then first her anger, leaving Pelleas, burn'd 
Full on her knights in many an evil name 
Of craven, weakling, and thrice-beaten hound : 
" Yet, take him, ye that scarce are fit to touch, 
Far less to bind, your victor, and thrust him 

out, 
And let who will release him from his bonds. 
And if he comes again " — there she brake short ; 
And Pelleas answer'd, " Lady, for indeed 
I loved you and I deem'd you beautiful, 
I cannot brook to see your beauty marr'd 
Thro' evil spite : and if ye love me not, 
I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn : 
I had liefer ye were worthy of my love, 
Than to be loved again of you — farewell ; 
And tho' ye kill my hope, not yet my love. 
Vex not yourself: ye will not see me more." 



While thus he spake, she gazed upon the man 
Of princely bearing, tho' in bonds, and thought, 
"Why have I push'd him from me? this man 

loves, 
If love there be : yet him I loved not. Why? 
1 deem'd him fool? yea, so? or that in him 
A something — was it nobler than myself? — 
Seem'd my reproach? He is not of my kind. 
He could not love me, did he know me well. 



3"2^3 







// 



Na}-, let him go — and quickly."' And her 

knights 
Laugh'd not, but thrust him bounden out of door. 

Forth sprang Gawain, and loosed him from 

his bonds, 
And flung them o'er the walls ; and afterward. 
Shaking his hands as from a lazar's rag, 
"Faith of my body," he said, "and art thou 

not — 
Yea thou art he, whom late our Arthur made 
Knight of his table ; yea and he that won 
The circlet ? wherefore hast thou so defamed 
Thy brotherhood in me and all the rest, 
As let these caitiffs on thee work their will? " 



m 



And Pelleas answer'd, " O, their wills are hers 
For whom I won the circlet : and mine, hers. 
Thus to'be bounden, so to see her face, 
IVIarr'd tho' it be with spite and mockery now, 
Other than when I found her in the woods ; 
And tho' she hath me bounden but in spite, 
And all to flout me, when they bring me in, 
Let me be bounden, I shall see her face ; 
Else must I die thro' mine unhappiness." 

And Gawain answer'd kindly tho' in scorn, 
' ' Why, let my lady bind me if she will, 
And let my lady beat me if she will : 



^^ 



m 



PELLEAS AXD ETTAKRE. 

But an she send her delegate to thrall 

These fighting hands of mine — Christ kill me 

then 
But I will slice him handless by the wrist, 
And let my lady sear the stump for him, 
Howl as he may. But hold me for your friend : 
Come, ye know nothing : here I pledge my troth, 
Yea, by the honor of the Table Round, 
I will be leal to thee and work thy work, 
And tame thy jailing princess to thine hand. 
Lend me thine horse and arms, and I will say 
That I have slain thee. She will let me in 
To hear the manner of thy fight and fall ; 
Then, when I come within her counsels, then 
From prime to vespers will I chant thy praise 
As prowest knight and truest lover, more 
Than any have sung thee living, till she long 
To have thee back in lusty life again. 
Not to be bound, save by white bonds and warm, 
Dearer than freedom. Wherefore now thy horse 
And armor : let me go : be comforted : 
Give me three days to melt her fancy, and hope 
The third night hence will bring thee news of 

gold." 

Then Pelleas lent his horse and all his arms, 
Saving the goodly sword, his prize, and took 
Gawain's, and said, " Betray me not, but help — 
Art thou not he whom men call light-of-love ? " 




m 



I 



302 PELLEAS AND ETTA R RE. 

" Ay," said Gawain, " for women be so light." 
Then bounded forward to the castle walls, 
And raised a bugle hanging from his neck, 
And winded it, and that so musically 
That all the old echoes hidden in the wall 
Rang out like hollow woods at hunting-tide. 

Up ran a score of damsels to the tower ; 
" Avaunt," they cried, " our lady loves thee not." 
But Gawain lifting up his vizor said, 
" Gawain am I, Gawain of Arthur's court, 
And I have slain the Pelleas whom ye hate : 
Behold his horse and armor. Qpen gates, 
And I will make you merry." 

And down they ran. 
Her damsels, crying to their lady, " Lo ! 
Pelleas is dead — he told us — he that hath 
His horse and armor: will ye let him in? 
He slew him ! Gawain, Gawain of the court. 
Sir Gawain — there he waits below the wall. 
Blowing his bugle as who should say him nay." 



,611 




And so, leave given, straight on thro' open 
door 
Rode Gawain, whom she greeted courteously. 
" Dead, is it so?" she ask'd. " Ay, ay," said 

he, 
" And oft in dying cried upon your name." 



^; 



ii 



^ 



ij 



" Pity on him," she answerVl, " a good knight, 
But never let me bide one hour at peace." 
" Ay," thought Gawain, " and you be fair enow : 
But I to your dead man have given my troth, 
That whom ye loathe, him will I make you love." 

So those three days, aimless about the land, 
Lost in a doubt, Pelleas wandering 
Waited, until the third night brought a moon 
With promise of large light on woods and ways. 




f; 



f 



Hot was the night and silent ; but a sound 
Of Gawain ever coming, and this lay — 
Which Pelleas had heard sung before the Queen, 
And seen her sadden listening — vext his heart, 
And marr'd his rest — "A worm within the 
rose." 

" A 'rose, but one, none other rose had I, 
A rose, one rose, and this was wondrous fair, 
One rose, a rose that gladden'd earth and sky, 
One rose, my rose, that sweetened all mine air — 
I cared not for the thorns ; the thorns were there. 



" One rose, a rose to gather by and by, 
One rose, a rose, to gather and to wear, 
No rose but one — what other rose had I ? 
One rose, my rose ; a rose that will not die, — 
He dies who loves it, — if the worm be there." 




^•2^5 



304 PELLEAS AND ETTA K RE. 



// 



This tender rhyme, and evermore the doubt, 
" Why lingers Gawain with his golden news? " 
So shook him that he could not rest, but rode 
Ere midnight to her walls, and bound his horse 
Hard by the gates. Wide open were the gates. 
And no watch Icept ; and in thro' these he past, 
And heard but his own steps, and his own heart 
Beating, for nothing moved but his own self, 
And his own shadow. Then he crost the 

court, 
And spied not any light in hall or bower. 
But saw the postern portal also wide 
Yawning ; and up a slope of garden, all 
Of roses white and red, and brambles mixt 
And overgrowing them, went on, and found, 
Here too, all hushxl below the mellow moon', 
Save that one rivulet from a tiny cave 
Came lightening downward, and so split itself 
Among the roses, and was lost again. 



Then was he ware of three pavilions reer'd 
Above the bushes, gilden-peakt : in one. 
Red after revel, droned her lurdane knights 
Slumbering, and their three squires across their 

feet; 
In one, their malice on the placid lip 
Froz'n by sweet sleep, four of her damsels lay: 
And in the third, the circlet of the jousts 
Bound on her brow, were Gawain and Ettarre. 



Wld 









If 



. Back, as a hand that pushes thro' the leaf 
To find a nest and feels a snake, he drew : 
Back, as a coward slinks from what he fears 
To cope with, or a traitor proven, or hound 
Beaten, did Pelleas in an utter shame 
Creep with his shadow thro' the court again, 
Fingering at his sword-handle until he stood 
There on the castle-bridge once more, and 

thought, 
" I will go back, and slay them where they lie." 

And so went back, and seeing them yet in 

sleep 
Said, " Ye, that so dishallow the holy sleep. 
Your sleep is death," and drew the sword, and 

thought, 
" What ! slay a sleeping knight? the King hath 

bound 
And sworn me to this brotherhood; " again, 
" Alas that ever a knight should be so false." 
Then turned, and so returned, and groaning laid 
The naked sword athwart their naked throats. 
There left it, and them sleeping ; and she lay. 
The circlet of the tourney round her brows. 
And the sword of the tourney across her throat. 

And forth he past, and mounting on his horse 
Stared at her towers that, larger than themselves 
In their own darkness, throng'd into the moon 



^2^-% 




Then crushed the saddle with his thighs, and 

clench'd 
His hands, and madden'd with himself and 

moan'd : 



" Would they have risen against me in their 

blood 
At the last day? I might have answered them 
Even before high God. O towers so strong, 
Huge, solid, would that even while I gaze 
The crack of earthquake shivering to your base 
Split you, and Hell burst up your harlot roofs 
Bellowing, and charr'd you thro' and thro' within. 
Black as the harlot's heart — hollow as a skull ! 
Let the fierce east scream thro' your eyelet-holes. 
And whirl the dust of harlots round and round 
In dung and nettles! hiss, snake — I saw him 

there — 
Let the fox bark, let the wolf yell. Who yells 
Here in the still sweet summer night, but I — 
I, the poor Pelleas whom she call'd her fool? 
Fool, beast — he, she, or I ? myself most fool : 
Beast too, as lacking human wit — disgraced, 
Dishonor'd all for trial of true love — 
Love? — we be all alike: only the King 
Hath made us fools and liars. O nobl^ vows ! 
O great and sane and simple race of brutes 
That own no lust because they have no law ! 
For why should I have loved her to my shame? 



^ 



b 

i 




:* 






PELLEAS AND ETTA R RE. 3°? 

I loathe her, as I loved her to my shame. 
I never loved her, I but lusted for her — 
Away — " 

He dashed the rowel into his horse 
And bounded forth and vanished thro' the night. 

Then she, that felt the cold touch on her throat, 
Awaking knew the sword, and turn'd herself 
To Gawain : " Liar, for thou hast not slain 
This Pelleas ! here he stood, and might have slain 
Me and thyself." And he that tells the tale 
Says that her ever-veering fancy turn'd 
To Pelleas, as the one true knight on earth. 
And only lover ; and thro' her love her life 
Wasted and pined, desiring him in vain. 

But he by wild and way, for half the night. 
And over hard and soft, striking the sod 
From out the soft, the spark from off the hard. 
Rode till the star above the waking sun. 
Beside that tower where Percivale was cowl'd. 
Glanced from the rosy forehead of the dawn. 
For so the words were flash'd into his heart 
He knew not whence or wherefore: "O sweet 

star. 
Pure on the virgin forehead of the dawn ! " 
And there he would have wept, but felt his eyes 
Harder and drier than a fountain bed 




ri 




ETTA R RE. 



In summer: thither came the village girls 
And linger'd talking, and they come no more 
Till the sweet heavens have fill'd it from the 

heights 
Again with living waters in the change 
Of seasons : hard his eyes ; harder his heart 
Seem'd ; but so weary were his limbs, that he, 
Gasping, " Of Arthur's hall am I, but here, 
Here let me rest and die," cast himself down. 
And gulf 'd his griefs in inmost sleep ; so lay. 
Till shaken by a dream, that Gawain fired 
The hall of Merlin, and the morning star 
Reel'd in the smoke, brake into flame, and fell. 

He woke, and being ware of some one nigh, 
Sent hands upon him, as to tear him, crying, 
" False ! and I held thee pure as Guinevere." 




But Percivale stood near him and replied, 
" Am I but false as Guinevere is pure.'' 
Or art thou mazed with dreams ? or being one 
Of our free-spoken Table hast not heard 
That Lancelot " — there he checked himself and 
paused. 

Then fared it with Sir Pelleas as with one 
Who gets a wound in battle, and the sword 
That made it plunges thro' the wound again. 
And pricks it deeper : and he shrank and waiPd, 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 309 \^y 

" Is the Queen false? " and Percivale was mute. 

"Have any of our Round Table held their 
vows ? " 

And Percivale made answer not a word. 

" Is the King true? " " The King! " said Perci- 
vale, 

" Why then let men couple at once with wolves. 

What ! art thou mad ? " 




But Pelleas, leaping up. 
Ran thro' the doors and vaulted on his horse 
And fled : small pity upon his horse had he, 
Or on himself, or any, and when he met 
A cripple, one that held a hand for alms — 
Hunch'd as he was, and like an old dwarf-elm 
That turns its back on the salt blast, the boy 
Paused not, but overrode him, shouting, " False, 
And false with Gawain ! " and so left him 

bruised 
And batter'd, and fled on, and hill and wood 
Went ever streaming by him till the gloom. 
That follows on the turning of the world, 
Darkened the common path : he twitch'd the 

reins. 
And made his beast that better knew it, swerve 
Now off it and now on ; but when he saw 
High up in heaven the hall that Merlin built, 
Blackening against the dead-green stripes of 

even, 



>\ 



Me 







310 PELLEAS AND ETTA R RE. 

" Black nest of rats," he groan'd, " ye build too 

high." 
Not long thereafter from the city gates 
Issued Sir Lancelot riding airily, 
Warm with a gracious parting from the Queen, 
Peace at his heart, and gazing at a star 
And marvelling what it was : on whom the boy, 
Across the silent seeded mellow-grass 
Borne, clashed: and Lancelot, saying, "What 

name hast thou 
That ridest here so blindly and so hard ? " 
" I have no name," he shouted, " a scourge am L 
To lash the treasons of the Table Round." 
" Yea, but thy name.'' " " I have many names," 

he cried : 
" I am wrath and shame and hate and evil fame, 
And like a poisonous wind I pass to blast 
And blaze the crime of Lancelot and the Queen." 
"First over me," said Lancelot, " shalt thou 

pass." 
" Fight therefore," yelPd the other, and either 

knight 
Drew back a space, and when they closed, at once 
The weary steed of Pelleas floundering flung 
His rider, who call'd out from the dark field, 
"Thou art false as Hell: slay me: I have no 

sword." 
Then Lancelot, "Yea, between thy lips — and 

sharp ; 



But here will I disedge it by thy death." 

•' Slay then," he shriek'd, " my will is to be 

slain," 
And Lancelot, with his heel upon the faU'n, 
Rolling his eyes, a moment stood, then spake : 
" Rise, weakling ; I am Lancelot ; say thy say." 

And Lancelot slowly rode his warhorse back 
To Camelot, and Sir Pelleas in brief while 
Caught his unbroken limbs from the dark field. 
And foUow'd to the city. It chanced that both 
Brake into hall together, worn and pale. 
There with her knights and dames was Guine- 
vere. 
Full wonderingly she gazed on Lancelot 
So soon return'd, and then on Pelleas, him 
Who had not greeted her, but cast himself 
Down on a bench, hard-breathing. " Have ye 

fought ? " 
She askVl of Lancelot. " Ay, my Queen," he 

said. 
" And thou hast overthrown him? " " Ay, my 

Queen." 
Then she, turning to Pelleas, " O young knight. 
Hath the great heart of knighthood in thee 

fail'd 
So far thou canst not bide, unfrowardly, 
A fall from him? " Then, for he answer'd not, 
" Or hast thou other griefs? If I, the Queen, 



<^' 




May help them, loose thy tongue, and let me 

know.'*' 
But Pelleas lifted up an eye so fierce 
ShequaiPd ; and he, hissing, " I have no sword," 
Sprang from the door into the dark. The Queen 
Look'd hard upon her lover, he on her ; 
And each foresaw the dolorous day to be : 
And all talk died, as in a grove all song 
Beneath the shadow of some bird of prey ; 
Then a long silence came upon the hall, 
And Modred thought, "The time is hard at 

hand." 




\ 






\\\ 






THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 




Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood 
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, 
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, 
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall. 
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand. 
And from the crown thereof a carcanet 
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize 
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday. 
Came Tristram, saying, "Why skip ye so, Sir 
Fool?" 

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once 
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock 
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead. 
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes, 
Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air 
Bearing an eagle's nest : and thro' the tree 
Rush'd ever a rainy wind, and thro' the wind 
Pierced ever a child's cry : end crag and tree 
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest. 
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck. 
And all unscarr'd from beak or talon, brought 
A maiden babe : which Arthur pitying took, 



:^ir2^) 




Then gave it to his Queen to rear : the Queen 

But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms 

Received, and after loved it tenderly, 

And named it Nestling ; so forgot herself 

A moment, and her cares ; till that young life 

Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold 

Past from her ; and in time the carcanet 

Vext her with plaintive memories of the child : 

So she, delivering it to Arthur, said, 

" Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence, 

And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize." 



i. 



To whom the King, " Peace to thine eagle- 
borne 
Dead nestling, and this honor after death, 
Following thy will ! but, O my Queen, I muse 
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone 
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn, 
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear." 

"Would rather you had let them fall," she 
cried, 
" Plunge and be lost — ill-fated as they were, 
A bitterness to me ! — ye look amazed, 
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given — 
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out 
Above the river — that unhappy child 
Past in her barge : but rosier luck will go 
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came 











19^ 

M 



V. 






THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 315 \<^ 



Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer, 
But the sweet body of a maiden babe. 
Perchance — who knows? — the purest of thy 

knights 
May win them for the purest of my maids." 

She ended, and the cry of a great joust 
With trumpet-blowings ran on all the ways 
From Camelot in among the faded fields 
To furthest towers ; and everywhere the knights 
Arm'd for a day of glory before the King. 

But on the hither side of that loud morn 
Into the hall stagger'd, his visage ribbM 
From ear to ear with dogwhip-weals, his nose 
Bridge-broken, one eye out, and one hand off, 
And one with shatterVl fingers dangling lame, 
A churl, to whom indignantly the King, 

"My churl, for whom Christ died, what evil 

beast 
Hath drawn his claws athwart thy face ? or fiend ? 
Man was it who marr'd heaven's image in thee 

thus ? " 

Then, sputtering thro' the hedge of spUnter'd 

teeth. 
Yet strangers to the tongue, and with blunt 

stump 
Pitch-blacken'd sawing the air, said the maim'd 

churl, 




3i6 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 



" He took them and he drave them to his 

tower — 
Some hold he was a table-knight of thine — 
A hundred goodly ones — the Red Knight, he — 
Lord, I was tending swine, and the Red Knight 
Brake in upon me and drave them to his tower ; 
And when I call'd upon thy name as one 
That doest right by gentle and by churl, 
Maim'd me and maul'd, and would outright have 

slain, 
Save that he sware me to a message, saying, 
' Tell thou the King and all his liars, that 1 
Have founded my Round Table in the North, 
And whatsoever his own knights have sworn 
My knights have sworn the counter to it — and 

say 
My tower is full of harlots, like his court. 
But mine are worthier, seeing they profess 
To be none other than themselves — and say 
My knights are all adulterers like his own. 
But mine are truer, seeing they profess 
To be none other ; and say his hour is come. 
The heathen are upon him, his long lance 
Broken, and his Excalibur a straw.'" 



\ 



5 



Then Arthur turn'd to Kay the seneschal, 
" Take thou my churl, and tend him curiously 
Like a king's heir, till all his hurts be whole. 
The heathen — but that ever-climbing wave, 













•:c'- 

^1 






®), 



n 




14 



777i? Z^iT TOURNAMENT. 317 



Hurl'd back again so often in empty foam, 
Hath lain for years at rest — and renegades, 
Thieves, bandits, leavings of confusion, whom 
The wholesome realm is purged of otherwhere, 
Friends, thro' your manhood and your fealty. — 

now 
Make their last head like Satan in the North. 
My younger knights, new-made, in whom your 

flower 
Waits to be solid fmit of golden deeds. 
Move with me toward their quelling, which 

achieved. 
The loneliest ways are safe from shore to shore. 
But thou, Sir Lancelot, sitting in my place 
Enchair'd to-morrow, arbitrate the field; 
For wherefore shouldst thou care to mingle 

with it. 
Only to yield my Queen her own again ? 
Speak, Lancelot, thou art silent : is it well? " 

Thereto Sir Lancelot answered, " It is well: 
Yet better if the King abide, and leave 
The leading of his younger knights to me. 
Else, for the King has wilPd it, it is well." 

Then Arthur rose and Lancelot follow'd him, 
And while they stood without the doors, the 

King 
Turn'd to him saving. "Is it then so well? 




Or mine the blame that oft I seem as he 

Of whom was written, ' A sound is in his ears ' ? 

The foot that loiters, bidden go, — the glance 

That only seems half-loyal to command, — 

A manner somewhat fall'n from reverence — 

Or have I dream'd the bearing of our knights 

Tells of a manhood ever less and lower? 

Or whence the fear lest this my realm, uprear'd, 

By noble deeds at one with noble vows. 

From flat confusion and brute violences. 

Reel back into the beast, and be no more? " 



t 




He spoke, and taking all his younger knights, 
Down the slope city rode, and sharply turn"d 
North by the gate. In her high bower the 

Queen, 
Working a tapestry, lifted up her head, 
Watch'd her lord pass, and knew not that she 

sigh'd. 
Then ran across her memory the strange rh\me 
Of bygone Merlin, "Where is he who knows? 
From the great deep to the great deep he goes."' 

But when the morning of a tournament. 
By these in earnest those in mockery call'd 
The Tournament of the Dead Innocence, 
Brake with a wet wind blowing, Lancelot, 
Round whose sick head all night, like birds of 
prey. 



1 

.■■A 

m 







& 

If 

m 



m 









T//E LAST TOURNAMEXT. 319 Ip^ 



The words of Arthur flying shriek'd, arose, 
And down a streetway hung with folds of pure 
White samite, and by fountains running wine. 
Where children sat in white whh cups of gold, 
Moved to the lists, and there, with slow sad steps 
Ascending, fill'd his double-dragon'd chair. 

He glanced and saw the stately galleries. 
Dame, damsel, each thro" worship of their Queen 
White-robed in honor of the stainless child. 
And some with scatter'd jewels, like a bank 
Of maiden snow mingled with sparks of fire. 
He look'd but once, and veil'd his eyes again. 

The sudden trumpet sounded as in a dream 
To ears but half-awakened, then one low roll 
Of Autumn thunder, and the jousts began : 
And ever the wind blew, and yellowing leaf 
And gloom and gleam, and shower and shorn 

plume 
Went down it. Sighing weariedly, as one 
Who sits and gazes on a faded fire. 
When all the goodlier guests are past away. 
Sat their great umpire, looking o'er the lists. 
He saw the laws that ruled the tournament 
Broken, but spake not ; once, a knight cast down 
Before his throne of arbitration cursed 
The dead babe and the follies of the King ; 
And once the laces of a helmet crack'd, 




LAST TOURNAMEiYT. 



And show'd him, like a vermin in its hole, 

Modred, a narrow face : anon he heard 

The voice that billow'd round the barriers roar 

An ocean-sounding welcome to one knight. 

But newly-enterd, taller than the rest, 

And armor'd all in forest green, whereon 

There tript a hundred tiny silver deer, 

And wearing but a holly-spray for crest. 

With ever-scattering berries, and on shield 

A spear, a harp, a bugle — Tristram — late 

From overseas in Brittany returned, 

And marriage with a princess of that realm, 

Isolt the White — Sir Tristram of the Woods — 

Whom Lancelot knew, had held sometime with 

pain 
His own against him, and now yearn'd to shake 
The burthen off his heart in one full shock 
With Tristram ev''n to death : his strong hands 

gript 
And dinted the gilt dragons right and left, 
Until he groan'd for wrath — so many of those, 
That ware their ladies' colors on the casque. 
Drew from before Sir Tristram to the bounds. 
And there with gibes and flickering mockeries 
Stood, while he mutter'd, " Craven crests ! O 

shame ! 
What faith have these in whom they sware to 

love ? 
The glory of our Round Table is no more." 



^ 







^^^<^^i^^ 




So Tristram won. and Lancelot gave, the gems, 
Not speaking other word than " Hast thou 

won? 
Art thou the purest, brother? See, the hand 
Wherewith thou takest this, is red ! " to whom 
Tristram, half plagued by Lancelot's languorous 

mood. 
Made answer, " Ay. but wherefore toss me this 
Like a dry bone cast to some hungry hound ? 
Let be thy fair Queen's fantasy. Strength of 

heart 
And might of limb, but mainly use and skill, 
Are winners in this pastime of our King. 
My hand — belike the lance hath dript upon it — 
No blood of mine, I trow ; but O chief knight, 
Right arm of Arthur in the battlefield, 
Great brother, thou nor I have made the world ; 
Be happy in thy fair Queen as I in mine." 



And Tristram round the gallery made his horse 
Caracole ; then bow'd his homage, bluntly say- 
ing' 
" Fair damsels, each to him who worships each 
Sole Queen of Beauty and of love, behold 
This day my Queen of Beauty is not here." 
And most of these were mute, some anger'd, 

one 
Murmuring, '• .All courtesy is dead," and one, 
" The glory of our Round Table is no more." 



i* 





Then fell thick rain, plume droopt and mantle 

clung, 

And pettish cries awoke, and the wan da_v 
Went glooming down in wet and weariness : 
But under her black brows a swarthy one 
Laugh'd shrilly, crying, " Praise the patient 

saints. 
Our one white day of Innocence hath past, 
Tho' somewhat draggled at the skirt. So be it. 
The snowdrop only, flowering thro' the year. 
Would make the world as blank as Winter-tide. 
Come — let us gladden their sad eyes, our Queen's 
And Lancelot's, at this night's solemnity 
With all the kindlier colors of the field.*' 

So dame and damsel glitter'd at the feast 
Variously gay: for he that tells the tale 
Liken'd them, saying, as when an hour of 

cold 
Falls on the mountain in midsummer snows. 
And all the purple slopes of mountain flowers 
Pass under white, till the warm hour returns 
With veer of wind, and all are flowers again ; 
So dame and damsel cast the simple white. 
And glowing in all colors, the live grass, 
Rose-campion, bluebell, kingcup, poppy, glanced 
About the revels, and with mirth so loud 
Beyond all use, that, half-amazed, the Queen, 
And wroth at Tristram and the lawless jousts, 



i 



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SIK 



I 



ii> 





Brake up their sports, then slowly to her bower 
Parted, and in her bosom pain was lord. 



And little Dagonet on the morrow morn. 
High over all the yellowing Autumn-tide, 
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall. 
Then Tristram saying, " Why skip ye so, Sir 

Fool ? ■' 
WheePd round on either heel, Dagonet replied, 
" Belike for lack of wiser company ; 
Or being fool, and seeing too much wit 
Makes the world rotten, why, belike I skip 
To know myself the wisest knight of all." 
" Ay, fool," said Tristram, " but 'tis eating dry 
To dance without a catch, a roundelay 
To dance to." Then he twangled on his harp. 
And while he twangled little Dagonet stood 
Quiet as any water-sodden log 
Stay'd in the wandering warble of a brook ; 
But when the twangling ended, skipt again ; 
And being ask'd, " Why skipt ye not, Sir Fool? " 
Made answer, " I had liefer twenty years 
Skip to the broken music of my brains 
Than any broken music thou canst make." 
Then Tristram, waiting for the quip to come, 
" Good now, what music have I broken, fool? " 
And little Dagonet, skipping, ' ' Arthur, the 

King's : 
For when thou playest that air with Queen Isolt, 



<? 



^1 








324 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 



Thou makest broken music with thy bride, 
Her daintier namesake down in Brittany — 
And so thou breakest Arthur's music too." 
" Save for that broken music in thy brains. 
Sir Fool,"' said Tristram, " I would break thy 

head. 
Fool, I came late, the heathen wars were o'er, 
The life had flown, we sware but by the shell — 
I am but a fool to reason with a fool — 
Come, thou art crabb'd and sour : but lean me 

down. 
Sir Dagonet, one of thy long asses' ears, 
And hearken if my music be not true. 

" ' Free love — free field — we love but while 

we may : 
The woods are hush'd, their music is no more : 
The leaf is dead, the yearning past away : 
New leaf, new life — the days of frost are o'er : 
New life, new love, to suit the newer day: 
New loves are sweet as those that went before : 
Free love — free field — we love but while we 

may.' 



" Ye might have moved slow-measure to my 
tune. 
Not stood stockstill. I made it in the woods, 
And heard it ring as true as tested gold." 





• -p- 



// 



But Dagonet with one foot poised in his hand, 
" Friend, did ye mark that fountain yesterday 
Made to run wine ? — but this liad run itself 
All out like a long life to a sour end — 
And them that round it sat with golden cups 
To hand the wine to whosoever came — 
The twelve small damosels white as Innocence, 
In honor of poor Innocence the babe, 
Who left the gems which Innocence the Queen 
Lent to the King, and Innocence the King 
Gave for a prize — and one of those white slips 
Handed her cup and piped, the pretty one, 
♦ Drink, drink. Sir Fool,' and thereupon I drank. 
Spat — pish — the cup was gold, the draught was 
mud." 



Was it muddier than thy 



B 



And Tristram, 

gibes? 

Is all the laughter gone dead out of thee? — 
Not marking how the knighthood mock thee, 

fool — 
' Fear God : honor the King — his one true 

knight — 
Sole follower of the vows ' — for here be they 
Who knew thee swine enow before I came, 
Smuttier than blasted grain : but when the King 
Had made thee fool, thy vanity so shot up 
It frighted all free fool from out thy heart ; 
Which left thee less than fool, and less than 

swine, 



/[ 




326 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

A naked aught — yet swine I hold thee still, 
For I have flung thee pearls and find thee swine." 

And little Dagonet mincing with his feet, 
" Knight, an ye fling those rubies round my 

neck 
In lieu of hers, I'll hold thou hast some touch 
Of music, since I care not for thy pearls. 
Swine? I have wallowed, I have wash'd — the 

world 
Is flesh and shadow — I have had my day. 
The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind 
Hath fouTd me — an I wallowed, then I wash'd — 
I have had my day and my philosophies — 
And thank the Lord I am King Arthur's fool. 
Swine, say ye? swine, goats, asses, rams and 

geese 
Troop'd round a Paynim harper once, who 

thrumm'd 
On such a wire as musically as thou * 

Some such fine song — but never a king's fool." 

And Tristram, " Then were swine, goats, 
asses, geese 
The wiser fools, seeing thy Paynim bard 
Had such a mastery of his mystery 
That he could harp his wife up out of hell." 

Then Dagonet, turning on the ball of his foot, 
"And whither harp'st thou thine? down! and 
thyself 



^2^- 







T//£ LAST TOURNAMENT. 



327 



Down ! and two more : a helpful harper thou. 
That harpest downward ! Dost thou know the 

star 
We call the harp of Arthur up in heaven?" 

And Tristram, " Ay, Sir Fool, for when our 
King 
Was victor wellnigh day by day, the knights, 
Glorying in each new glory, set his name 
High on all hills, and in the signs of heaven." 



And Dagonet answered, " Ay, and when the 
land 
Was freed, and the Queen false, ye set yourself 
To babble about him, all to show your wit — 
And whether he were King by courtesy. 
Or King by right — and so went harping down 
The black King's highway, got so far, and grew 
So witty that ye play'd at ducks and drakes 
With Arthur's vows on the great lake of fire. 
Tuwhoo ! do ye see it? do ye see the star?" 

"Nay, fool," said Tristram, "not in open 

day." 
And Dagonet, " Nay, nor will : I see it and hear. 
It makes a silent music up in heaven. 
And I, and Arthur and the angels hear, 
And then we skip." " Lo, fool," he said, "ye 

talk 



A'. \\ 




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'^ .;.) 328 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 



Fool's treason : is the King thy brother fool?" 
Then little Dagonet clapt his hands and shrill'd, 
" Ay, ay, my brother fool, the king of fools ! 
Conceits himself as God that he can make 
Figs out of thistles, silk from bristles, milk 
From burning spurge, honey from hornet-combs. 
And men from beasts — Long live tlie king of 
fools ! " 

And down the city Dagonet danced away ; 
But thro' the slowly-mellowing avenues 
And solitary passes of the wood 
Rode Tristram toward Lyonnesse and the west. 
Before him fled the face of Queen Isolt 
With ruby-circled neck, but evermore 
Past, as a rustle or twitter in the wood 
Made dull his inner, keen his outer eye 
For all that walk'd, or crept, or perch'd, or flew. 
Anon the face, as, when a gust hath blown, 
Unruffiing waters re-collect the shape 
Of one that in them sees himself, return'd ; 
But at the slot or fewmets of a deer. 
Or ev'n a fall'n feather, vanish'd again. 



At 




So on for all that day from lawn to lawn 
Thro' many a league-long bower he rode 

length 
A lodge of intertwisted beechen-boughs 
Furze-cramm'd, and bracken-rooft, the which 

himself 



1^ 



Built for a summer day with Queen Isolt 
Against a shower, dark in the golden grove 
Appearing, sent his fancy back to where 
She lived a moon in that low lodge with him : 
Till Mark her lord had past, the Cornish King, 
With six or seven, when Tristram was away, 
And snatch'd her thence ; yet dreading worse 

than shame 
Her warrior Tristram, spake not any word. 
But bode his hour, devising wretchedness. 




And now that desert lodge to Tristram lookt 
So sweet, that halting, in he past, and sank 
Down on a drift of foliage random-blown ; 
But could not rest for musing how to smoothe 
And sleek his marriage over to the Queen. 
Perchance in lone Tintagil far from all 
The tonguesters of the court she had not heard. 
But then what folly had sent him overseas 
After she left him lonely here? a name? 
Was it the name of one in Brittany, 
Isolt, the daughter of the King? " Isolt 
Of the white hands " they calPd her : the sweet 

name 
Allured him first, and then the maid herself. 
Who served him well with those white hands of 

hers. 
And loved him well, until himself had thought 
He loved her also, wedded easilv. 




33° THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

But left her all as easily, and returned. 
The black-blue Irish hair and Irish eyes i, 

Had drawn him home — what marvel ? then he C 
laid ( 

His brows upon the drifted leaf and dream'd. 



He seenvd to pace the strand of Brittany 
Between Isolt of Britain and his bride, 
And show'd them both the ruby-chain, and both 
Began to struggle for it, till his Queen 
Graspt it so hard, that all her hand was red, 
Then cried the Breton, " Look, her hand is 

red! 
These be no rubies, this is frozen blood. 
And melts within her hand — her hand is hot 
With ill desires, but this I gave thee, look. 
Is all as cool and white as any flower." 
Follow'd a rush of eagle's wings, and then 
A whimpering of the spirit of the child. 
Because the twain had spoiPd her carcanet. 

He dream'd ; but Arthur witli a hundred spears 
Rode far, till o'er the illimitable reed. 
And many a glancing plash and sallowy isle. 
The wide-wing'd sunset of the misty marsh 
Glared on a huge machicolated tower 
That stood with open doors, whereout was roll'd 
A roar of riot, as from men secure 
Amid their marshes, ruffians at their ease 




I 



r 







Among their harlot-brides, an evil song. 

" Lo there," said one of Arthur's youth, for 

there, 
High on a grim dead tree before the tower, 
A goodly brother of the Table Round 
Swung by the neck : and on the boughs a shield 
Showing a shower of blood in a field noir, 
And therebeside a horn, inflamed the knights 
At that dishonor done the gilded spur. 
Till each would clash the shield, and blow the 

horn. 
But Arthur waved them back. Alone he rode. 
Then at the dry harsh roar of the great horn, 
That sent the face of all the marsh aloft 
An ever upward-rushing storm and cloud 
Of shriek and plume, the Red Knight heard, and 

all. 
Even to tipmost lance and topmost helm. 
In blood-red armor sallying, howFd to the King, 



" The teeth of Hell flay bare and gnash thee 
^ flat!— • ' 

'^ Lo ! art thou not that eunuch-hearted King 
I' Who fain had dipt free manhood from the 

world — 
j\J The woman-worshipper? Yea, God's curse, and 

® . '• 

' '*■ Slain was the brother of my paramour 

By a knight of thine, and I that heard her whine 



// 



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THE LAST TOUKA^AMENT. 

And snivel, being eunuch-hearted too, 
Sware by the scorpion-worm that twists in hell. 
And stings itself to everlasting death. 
To hang whatever knight of thine I fought 
And tumbled. Art thou King? — Look to thy 
life ! " 






O., 



He ended : Arthur knew the voice ; the face 
Wellnigh was helmet-hidden, and the name 
Went wandering somewhere darkling in his 

mind. 
And Arthur deign'd not use of word or sword. 
But let the drunkard, as he stretch'd from horse 
To strike him, overbalancing his bulk, 
Down from the causeway heavily to the swamp 
Fall, as the crest of some slow-arching wave. 
Heard in dead night along that table-shore. 
Drops flat, and after the great waters break 
Whitening for half a league, and thin themselves, 
Far over sands marbled with moon and cloud. 
From less and less to nothing ; thus he fell 
Head-heavy; then the knights, who watch'd 

him, roar'd 
And shouted and leapt down upon the fall'n ; 
There trampled out his face from being known. 
And sank his head in mire, and slimed them- 
selves : 
Nor heard the King for their own cries, but 
sprang 



I 




THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 



ill 



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m. 




Thro' open doors, and swording right and left 
Men. women, on their sodden faces, hurl'd 
The tables over and the wines, and slew 
Till all th^e rafters rang with woman-yells, 
And all the pavement stream'd with massacre : 
Then, yell with yell echoing, they fired the tower. 
Which half that autumn night, like the live 

North, 
Red-pulsing up thro' Alioth and Alcor, 
Made all above it, and a hundred meres 
About it, as the water Moab saw 
Come round by the East, and out beyond them 

flush'd 
The long low dune, and lazy-plunging sea. 

So all the ways were safe from shore to shore. 
But in the heart of Arthur pain was lord. 

Then, out of Tristram waking, the red dream 
Fled with a shout, and that low lodge returned. 
Mid-forest, and the wind among the boughs. 
He whistled his good warhorse left to graze 
Among the forest greens, vaulted upon him. 
And rode beneath an ever-showering leaf, 
Till one lone woman, weeping near a cross, 
Stay'd him. "Why weep ye?" "Lord," she 

said, " my man 
Hath left me or is dead ; " whereon he thought — 
" What, if she hate me now ? I would not this. 



^ 



7 





What, if she love me still? I would not that. 
I know not what I would " — but said to her, 
" Yet weep not thou, lest, if thy mate return, 
He find thy favor changed and love thee not '" — 
Then pressing day by day thro' Lyonnesse 
Last in a rocky hollow, belling, heard 
The hounds of Mark, and felt the goodly hounds 
Yelp at his heart, but turning, past and gain'd 
Tintagil, half in sea, and high on land, 
A crown of towers. 

Down in a casement sat, 
A low sea-sunset glorying round her hair 
And giossy-tliroated grace, Isolt tiie Queen. 
And when she heard the feet of Tristram grind 
The spiring stone that scaled about her tower, 
FlushVl, started, met him at the doors, and 

there 
Belted his body with her wiiite embrace. 
Crying aloud, " Not Mark — not Mark, my soul ! 
The footstep fluttered me at first : not he : 
Catlike thro' his own castle steals my Mark, 
But warrior-wise thou stridest thro' his halls 
Who hates thee, as 1 him — ev'n to the death. 
My soul, 1 felt my hatred for my Mark 
Quicken within me, and knew that thou wert 

nigh." 
To whom Sir Tristram smiling. " 1 am here. 
Let be thv Mark, seeing he is not thine." 







s 



>\ 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 335 l^V 



And drawing somewhat backward she replied, 
" Can he be wrong'd who is not ev'n his own, 
But save for dread of thee had beaten me, 
Scratched, bitten, blinded, marr'dme somehow — 

Mark ? 
What rights are his that dare not strike for them ? 
Not lift a hand — not, tho' he found me thus ! 
But hearken ! have ye met him ? hence he went 
To-day for three days' hunting — as he said — 
And so returns belike within an hour. 
Mark's way, my soul ! — but eat not thou with 

Mark 
Because he hates thee even more than fears ; 
Nor drink : and when thou passest any wood 
Close vizor, lest an arrow from the bush 
Should leave me all alone with Mark and hell. 
My God, the measure of my hate for Mark 
Is as the measure of my love for thee." 

So, pluck'd one way by hate and one by love, 
Drain'd of her force, again she sat, and spake 
To Tristram, as he knelt before her, saying, 
" O hunter, and O blower of the horn. 
Harper, and thou hast been a rover too. 
For, ere I mated with my shambling king. 
Ye twain had fallen out about the bride 
Of one — his namfe is out of me — the prize. 
If prize she were — (what marvel — she could 
see) — 




Thine, friend ; and ever since my craven seeks 
To wreck thee villainously : but, O Sir Knight, 
What dame or damsel have ye kneePd to last ? "' 

And Tristram, " Last to my Queen Paramount, 
Here now to my Queen Paramount of love 
And loveliness — ay, lovelier than when first 
Her light feet fell on our rough Lyonnesse, 
Sailing from Ireland." 

Softly laugh'd Isolt ; 
" Flatter me not, for hath not our great Queen 
My dole of beauty trebled ? " and he said, 
" Her beauty is her beauty, and thine thine. 
And thine is more to me — soft, gracious, kind — 
Save when thy Mark is kindled on thy lips 
Most gracious ; but she, haughty, ev'n to him, 
Lancelot ; for I have seen him wan enow 
To make one doubt if ever the great Queen 
Have yielded him her love." 



To whom Isolt, 
" Ah then, false hunter and false harper, thou 
Who brakest thro" the scruple of my bond. 
Calling me thy wliite hind, and saying to me 
That Guinevere had sinn'd against the highest. 
And I — misyoked with such a want of man — 
That I could hardly sin against the lowest." 



^^^^^i^^mf^^ 




THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 337 

He answered, " O my soul, be comforted ! 
If this be sweet, to sin in leading-strings, 
If here be comfort, and if ours be sin, 
Crown'd warrant had we for the crowning sin 
That made us happy : but how ye greet me — 

fear 
And fault and doubt — no word of that fond 

tale — 
Thy deep heart-yearnings, thy sweet memories 
Of Tristram in that year he was away." 

And, saddening on the sudden, spake Isolt, 
" I had forgotten all in my strong joy 
To see thee — yearnings ? — ay ! for, hourby 

hour. 
Here in the never-ended afternoon, 
O sweeter than all memories of thee, 
Deeper than any yearnings after thee 
Seem'd those far-rolling, westward-smiling seas, 
Watch'd from this tower. Isolt of Britain dash'd 
Before Isolt of Brittany on the strand. 
Would that have chilPd her bride-kiss ? Wedded 

her? 
Fought in her father's battles? wounded there? 
The King was all fulfilled with gratefulness, 
And she, my namesake of the hands, that heaPd 
Thy hurt and heart with unguent and caress — 
Well — can I wish her any huger wrong 
Than having known thee ? her too hast thou left 




J) T^ 




LAST 



% 



To pine and waste in those sweet memories. 
O were I not my Mark's, by whom all men 
Are noble, I should hate thee more than love." 

And Tristram, fondling her light hands, re- 
plied, 

" Grace, Queen, for being loved: she loved me 
welT. 

Did I love her? the name at least I loved. 

Isolt? — I fought his battles, for Isolt ! 

The night was dark ; the true star set. Isolt ! 

The name was ruler of the dark Isolt ? 

Care not for her ! patient, and prayerful, meek. 

Pale-blooded, she will yield herself to God.'" 

" And Isolt answer'd, " Yea, and why not I? 
Mine is the larger need, who am not meek. 
Pale-blooded, prayerful. Let me tell thee now. 
Here one black, mute midsummer night I sat. 
Lonely, but musing on thee, wondering where. 
Murmuring a light song I had heard thee sing. 
And once or twice I spake thy name aloud. 
Then flash'd a levin-brand ; and near me stood. 
In fuming sulphur blue and green, a tiend — 
Mark"'s way to steal behind one in the dark — 
For there was Mark : ' He has wedded her,' he 

said, 
JMot said, but hiss'd it : then this crown of towers 
So shook to such a roar of all the sky. 



>, 



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THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 339 

That here in utter dark I swoon'd away. 
And woke again in utter dark, and cried, 
' I will flee hence and give myself to God ' — 
And thou wert lying in thy new leman's arms." 

Then Tristram, ever dallying with her hand. 
" May God be with thee, sweet, when old and 

gray, 
And past desire ! " a saying that angerM her. 
" ' May God be with thee, sweet, when thou art 

old. 
And sweet no more to me ! ' I need Him now. 
For when had Lancelot utterVl aught so gross 
Ev'n to the swineherd's malkin in the mast? 
The greater man, the greater courtesy. 
Far other was the Tristram, Arthur's knight ! 
But thou, thro' ever harrying thy wild beasts — 
Save that to touch a harp, tilt with a lance 
•Becomes thee well — art grown wild beast thy- 
self. 
How darest thou, if lover, push me even 
In fancy from thy side, and set me far 
In the gray distance, half a life away. 
Her to be loved no more ? Unsay it, unswear \ 
Flatter me rather, seeing me so weak. 
Broken with Mark and hate and solitude. 
Thy marriage and mine own, that I should suck 
Lies like sweet wines : lie to me : I believe. 
Will ye not lie? not swear, as there ye kneel, 



*^.Li 



^^:S^!^^ 



And solemnly as when ye sware to him, 
The man of men, our King — My God, the power 
Was once in vows when men believed the King I 
They lied not then, who sware, and thro' their 

vows 
The King prevailing made his realm : — I say, 
Swear to me thou wilt love me ev'n when old, 
Gray-hair'd, and past desire, and in despair." 



7?:csl 




^ 



it 




n 



Then Tristram, pacing moodily up and down, 
" Vows ! did you keep the vow you made to Mark 
More than I mine? Lied, say ye? Nay, but 

learnt. 
The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself — 
My knighthood taught me this — ay, being 

snapt — 
We run more counter to the soul thereof 
Than had we never sworn. I swear no more. 
I swore to the great King, and am forsworn. 
For once — ev'n to the height — I honor'd him. 
' Man, is he man at all?' methought, when first 
1 rode from our rough Lyonnesse, and beheld 
That victor of the Pagan throned in hall — 
His hair, a sun that ray'd from off a brow 
Like hillsnow high in heaven, the steel-blue eyes, 
The golden beard that clothed his lips with 

light — 
Moreover, that weird legend of his birth. 
With Merlin's mystic babble about his end 



4 



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THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 341 Vij\ 



Amazed me ; then, his foot was on a stool 
Shaped as a dragon ; he seem'd to me no man. 
But Michael trampling Satan ; so I sware, 
Being amazed : but this went by — The vows ! 
O ay — the wholesome madness of an hour — 
They serve their use, their time ; for every knight 
Believed himself a greater than himself. 
And every follower eyed him as a God ; 
Till he, being lifted up beyond himself. 
Did mightier deeds than elsewise he had done. 
And so the realm was made ; but then their 

vows — 
First mainly thro' that sullying of our Queen — 
Began to gall the knighthood, asking whence 
Had Arthur right to bind them to himself? 
Dropt down from heaven ? wash'd up from out 

the deep? 
They faiFd to trace him thro' the flesh and blood 
Of our old kings : whence then? a doubtful lord 
To bind them by inviolable vows. 
Which flesh and blood perforce would violate : 
For feel this arm of mine — the tide within 
Red with free chase and heather-scented air, 
Pulsing full man ; can Arthur make me pure 
As any maiden child? lock up my tongue 
From uttering freely what I freely hear? 
Bind me to one? The wide world laughs at it. 
And worldling of the world am I, and know 
The ptarmigan that whitens ere his hour 




Woos his own end ; we are not angels here 
Nor shall be : vows — I am woodman of the 

woods, 
And hear the garnet-headed yaffingale 
Mock them : my soul, we love but while we may ; 
And therefore is my love so large for thee, 
Seeing it is not bounded save by love." 



Here ending, he moved toward her, and she 

said, 
" Good : an I turn'd away my love for thee 
To some one thrice as courteous as thyself — 
For courtesy wins woman all as well 
As valor may, but he that closes both 
Is perfect, he is Lancelot — taller indeed, 
Rosier and comelier, thou — but say I loved 
This knightliest of all knights, and cast thee back 
Thine own small saw, ' We love but while we 

may,' 
Well then, what answer?" 

He that while she spake, 
Mindful of what he brought to adorn her with. 
The jewels, had let one finger lightly touch 
The warm white apple of her throat, replied, 
" Press this a little closer, sweet, until — 
Come, I am hunger'd and half-anger'd — meat. 
Wine, wine — and I will love thee to the death, 
And out beyond into the dream to come."' 



01 



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77/i: LAST TOURNAMENT. 343 \pi?> 



So then, when both were brought to full accord, 
She rose, and set before him all he wilPd ; 
And after these had comforted the blood 
With meats and wines, and satiated their hearts — 
Now talking of their woodland paradise. 
The deer, the dews, the fern, the founts, the 

lawns ; 
Now mocking at the much ungainliness, 
And craven shifts, and long crane legs of Mark — 
Then Tristram laughing caught the harp, and 

sang : 

"Ay, ay, O ay — the winds that bend the 
brier ! 
A star in heaven, a star within the mere ! 
Ay, ay, O ay — a star was my desire, 
And one was far apart, and one was near : 
Ay, ay, O ay — the winds that bow the grass ! 
And one was water and one star was fire, 
And one will ever shine and one will pass. 
Ay, ay, O ay — the winds that move the mere." 



Then in the light's last glimmer Tristram 
show'd 
And swung the ruby carcanet. She cried, 
" The collar of some Order, which our King 
Hath newly founded, all for thee, my soul. 
For thee, to yield thee grace beyond thy peers." 



> 




C1^;1A 344 THE LAST TOURNAMEXT. 

) "Not so, my Queen," he said. " but the red 

, fruit 

Grown on a magic oak-tree in mid-heaven, 
And won by Tristram as a tourney-prize. 
And hither brought by Tristram for his last 
Love-otTering and peace-offering unto thee." 



He spoke, he turn'd, then, flinging round her 

neck, 
Claspt it, and cried " Thine Order, O my Queen ! " 
But, while he bow'd to kiss the jewell'd throat, . 
Out of the dark, just as the lips had touch'd, 
Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek — 
" Mark's way," said Mark, and clove him thro' 

the brain. 

That night came Arthur home, and while he 

climb'd. 
All in a death-dumb autumn-dripping gloom, 
The stairway to the hall, and look'd and saw 
The great Queen's bower was dark, — about his 

feet 
A voice clung sobbing till he questioned it, 
"What art thou? " and the voice about his feet 
Sent up an answer, sobbing, " I am thy fool, 
And I shall never make thee smile again." 



t 







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GUINEVERE. 



345 



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GUINEVERE. 

Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat 
There in the holy house at Ahnesbury 
Weeping, none with her save a Uttle maid, 
A novice : one low light betwixt them burn'd 
Blurr'd by the creeping mist, for all abroad. 
Beneath a moon unseen albeit at full, 
The white mist, like a face-cloth to the face. 
Clung to the dead earth, and the land was still. 

For hither had she fled, her cause of flight 
Sir Modred ; he that like a subtle beast 
Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne. 
Ready to spring, waiting a chance : for this 
He chiird the popular praises of the King 
With silent smiles of slow disparagement ; 
And tampered with the Lords of the White Horse, 
Heathen, the brood by Hengist left ; and sought 
To make disruption in the Table Round 
Of Arthur, and to splinter it into feuds 
Serving his traitorous end ; and all his aims 
Were sharpen'd by strong hate for Lancelot. 




For thus it chanced one morn when all the 

court, 
Green-suited, but with plumes that mockM the 

may, 
Had been, their wont, a-maying and returned, 
That Alodred still in green, all ear and eye, 
Climb'd to the high top of the garden-wall 
To spy some secret scandal if he might, 
And saw the Queen who sat betwixt her best 
Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court 
The wiliest and the worst ; and more than this 
He saw not, for Sir Lancelot passing by 
Spied where he couch'd, and as the gardener's 

hand 
Picks from the colewort a green caterpillar, 
So from the high wall and the flowering grove 
Of gras^iLancelot pluck'd him by the heel, 
And cas^im as a worm upon the way ; 
But when he knew the Prince tho' marr'd with 

dust. 
He, reverencing king's blood in a bad man, 
Made such excuses as he might, and these 
Full knightly without scorn ; for in those days 
No knight of Arthur's noblest dealt in scorn ; 
But, if a man were halt or hunch'd, in him 
By those whom God had made full-limb'd and 

tall, 
Scorn was allowxl as part of his defect. 
And he was answered softly by the King 



u 



uir 



I, 



J;- 






And all his Table. So Sir Lancelot holp 
To raise tlie Prince, who rising twice or thrice 
Full sharply smote his knees, and smiled, and 

went : 
But, ever after, the small violence done 
Rankled in him and ruffled all his heart. 
As the sharp wind that ruffles all day long 
A little bitter pool about a stone 
On the bare coast. 



But when Sir Lancelot told 
This matter to the Queen, at first she laugh'd 
Lightly to think of Modred's dusty fall. 
Then shuddered, as the village wife who cries 
" I shudder, some one steps across my grave :" 
Then laugh'd again, but faintlier, for indeed 
She half-foresaw that he, the subtle beast, 
Would track her guilt until he found, and hers 
Would be for evermore a name of scorn. 
Henceforward rarely could she front in hall, 
Or elsewhere, Modred's narrow foxy face. 
Heart-hiding smile, and gray persistent e}e : 
Henceforward too, the Powers that tend the 

soul. 
To help it from the death that cannot die. 
And save it even in extremes, began 
To vex and plague her. Many a time for liours. 
Beside the placid breathings of the King, 
In the dead night, grim faces came and went 





Before her, or a vague spiritual fear — 
Like to some doubtful noise of creaking doors, 
Heard by the watcher in a haunted house, 
That keeps the rust of murder on the walls — 
Held her awake : or if she slept, she dream'd 
An awful dream ; for then she seem'd to stand 
On some vast plain before a setting sun, 
And from the sun there swifty made at her 
A ghastly something, and its shadow flew 
Before it, till it touch'd her, and she turn'd — 
When lo ! her own, that broadening from her 

feet. 
And blackening, swallowed all the land, and in 

it 
Far cities burnt, and with a cry she woke. 
And all this trouble did not pass but grew ; 
Till ev'n the clear face of the guileless King, 
And trustful courtesies of household life. 
Became her bane ; and at the last she said, 
" O Lancelot, get thee hence to thine own land. 
For if thou tarry we shall meet again. 
And if we meet again, some evil chance 
Will make the smouldering scandal break and 

blaze 
Before the people, and our lord the King." 
And Lancelot ever promised, but remain'd, 
And still they met and met. Again she said, 
" O Lancelot, if thou love me get thee hence." 
And then they were agreed upon a night 



■9.1 



^ 






m 



f 



(When the good King should not be there) to 

meet 
And part for ever. Passion-pale they met 
And greeted : hands in hands, and eye to eye, 
Low on the border of her couch they sat 
Stammering and staring : it was their last hour, 
A madness of farewells. And Modred brought 
His creatures to the basement of the tower 
For testimony ; and crying with full voice 
" Traitor, come out, ye are trapt at last," aroused 
Lancelot, who rushing outward lionlike 
Leapt on hnn, and hurl'd him headlong, and he 

fell 
Stunn'd, and his creatures took and bare him 

off, 
And all was still : then she, " The end is come, 
And 1 am shamed for ever ; " and he said, 
" Mme be the shame ; mine was the sin : but 

rise. 
And fly to my strong castle overseas : 
There will 1 hide thee, till my life shall end. 
There hold thee with my life against the world." 
She answerd, *' Lancelot, wilt thou hold me so? 
Nay, friend, for we have taken our farewells. 
Would God that thou couldst hide me from my- 
self! 
Mine is the shame, for I was wife, and thou 
Unwedded : yet rise now, and let us fly. 
For I will draw me into sanctuary, 




doom 



Lancelot got 



bide my 

horse, 

Set her thereon, and mounted on his own. 
And then they rode to the divided way. 
There kiss'd, and parted weeping : for he past. 
Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen, 
Back to his land ; but she to Almesbury 
Fled all night long by glimmering waste and 

weald, 
And heard the Spirits of the waste and weald 
Moan as she fled, or thought she heard them 

moan : 
And in herself she moan'd •' Too late, too late ! '' 
Till in the cold wind that foreruns the morn, 
A blot in heaven, the Raven, flying high, 
Croak'd, and she thought. *' He spies a field of 

death ; 
For now the Heathen of the Northern Sea, 
Lured by the crimes and frailties of the court. 
Begin to slay the folk, and spoil the land." 

And when she came to Almesbury she spake 
There to the nuns, and said, " Mine enemies 
Pursue me, but, O peaceful Sisterhood, 
Receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask 
Her name to whom ye yield it, till her time 
To tell you : '" and her beauty, grace and power, 
Wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared 
To ask it. 







\\l 



k 



I 



m 










. .O. , 



So the stately Queen abode 
For many a week, unknown, among the nuns ; 
Nor with them mix'd, nor told her name, nor 

sought, 
Wrapt in her grief, for house! or for shrift. 
But communed only with the little maid. 
Who pleased her with a babbling heedless- 
ness 
Which often lured her from herself; but now, 
This night, a rumor widely blown about 
Came that Sir Modred had usurp'd the realm, 
And leagued him with the heathen, while the 

King 
Was waging war on Lancelot : then she thought, 
" With what a hate the people and the King 
Must hate me," and bow'd down upon her 

hands 
Silent, until the little maid, who brook'd 
No silence, brake it, uttering " Late I so late ! 
What hour, I wonder, now ? " and when she 

drew 
No answer, by and by began to hum 
An air the nuns had taught her; "Late, so 

late ! " 
Which when she heard, the Queen look'd up, 

and said, 
*' O maiden, if indeed ye list to sing. 
Sing, and unbind my heart that I may weep." 
Whereat full willingly sang the little maid. 



\fl 




" Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and 
chill ! 
Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 

" No light had we : for that we do repent ; 
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 



1", 



t 



"No light: so late! and dark and chill the 
night ! 
O let us in, that we may find the light ! 
Too late, too late : ve cannot enter now. 



" Have we not heard the bridegroom is so 
sweet ? 
O let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet ! 
No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now." 

So sang the novice, while full passionately. 
Her head upon her hands, remembering 
Her thought when first she came, wept the sad 

Queen. 
Then said the little novice prattling to her. 



<? 



10 1 



" O pray you, noble lady, weep no more ; 
But let my words, the words of one so small, 
Who knowing nothing knows but to obey. 
And if I do not there is penance given — 




GUINEVERE. 



353 












11/ 



Comfort your sorrows ; for they do not flow 
From evil done ; right sure am I of that. 
Who see your tender grace and stateliness. 
But weigh your sorrows with our lord the 

King's, 
And weighing find them less ; for gone is he 
To wage grim war against Sir Lancelot there, 
Round that strong castle where he holds the 

Queen ; 
And Modred whom he left in charge of all. 
The traitor — Ah sweet lady, the King's grief 
For his own self, and his own Queen, and 

realm. 
Must needs be thrice as great as any of ours. 
For me, I thank the saints, I am not great. 
For if there ever come a grief to me 
I cry my cry in silence, and have done. 
None knows it, and my tears have brought me 

good : 
But even were the griefs of little ones 
As great as those of great ones, yet this grief 
Is added to the griefs the great must bear, 
That howsoever much they may desire 
Silence, they cannot weep behind a cloud : 
As even here they talk at Almesbury 
About the good King and his wicked Queen, 
And were I such a King with such a Queen, 
Well might I wish to veil her wickedness. 
But were I such a King, it could not be." 







fUti 



Then to her own sad heart mutter'd the 
Queen, 
" Will the child kill me with her innocent talk? " 
But openly she answer'd, " Must not I, 
If this false traitor have displaced his lord. 
Grieve with the common grief of all the realm ? " 

" Yea," said the maid, " this is all woman's 
grief. 
That s/ie is woman, whose disloyal life 
Hath wrought confusion in the Table Round 
Which good King Arthur founded, years ago. 
With signs and miracles and wonders, there 
At Camelot, ere the coming of the Queen." 

Then thought the Queen within herself again. 
"Will the child kill me with her foolish prate?" 
But openly she spake and said to her, 
"O little maid, shut in by nunnery walls. 
What canst thou know of Kings and Tables 

Round, 
Or what of signs and wonders, but the signs 
And simple miracles of thy nunnery?" 

To whom the little novice garrulously, 
" Yea, but I know : the land was full of signs 
And wonders ere the coming of the Queen. 
So said my father, and himself was knight 
Of the great Table — at the founding of it ; 





rs 



I 



S: 



51 




And rode thereto from Lyonnesse, and he said 
That as he rode, an hour or maybe twain 
After the sunset, down the coast, he heard 
Strange music, and he paused, and turning — 

there, 
All down the lonely coast of Lyonnesse, 
Each with a beacon-star upon his head. 
And with a wild sea-light about his feet, 
He saw them — headland after headland flame 
Far on into the rich heart of the west : 
And in the light the white mermaiden swam, 
And strong man-breasted things stood from the 

sea, 
And sent a deep sea-voice thro' all the land, 
To which the little elves of chasm and cleft 
Made answer, sounding like a distant horn. 
So said my father — yea, and furthermore, 
Next morning, while he past the dim-lit woods. 
Himself beheld three spirits mad with joy 
Come dashing down on a tall wayside flower. 
That shook beneath them, as the thistle shakes 
When three gray linnets wrangle for the seed : 
And still at evenings on before his horse 
The flickering fairy-circle wheel'd and broke 
Flying, and link'd again, and wheePd and broke 
Flying, for all the land was full of life. 
And when at last he came to Camelot, 
A wreath of airy dancers hand-in-hand 
Swung round the lighted lantern of the hall ; 



h 



Ik 




356 



GUINEVERE. 



And in the hall itself was such a feast 
As never man had dream'd ; for every knight 
Had whatsoever meat he long'd for served 
By hands unseen ; and even as he said 
Down in the cellars merry bloated things 
Shoulder'd the spigot, straddling on the butts 
While the wine ran . so glad were spirits and 

men 
Before the coming of the sinful Queen." 

Then spake the Queen and somewhat bitterly, 
" Were they so glad? ill prophets were they all, 
Spirits and men : could none of them foresee, 
Not even thy wise father with his signs 
And wonders, what has fall'n upon the realm ? " 



To whom the novice garrulously again, 
" Yea, one, a bard ; of whom my father said, 
Full many a noble war-song had he sung, 
Ev'n in the presence of an enemy's fleet, 
Between the steep clift" and the coming wave ; 
And many a mystic lay of life and death 
Had chanted on the smoky mountain-tops, 
When round him bent the spirits of the hills 
With all their dewy hair blown back like flame : 
So said my father — and that night the bard 
Sang Arthur's glorious wars, and sang the King 
As wellnigh more than man, and rail'd at those 
Who caird him the false son of Gorlois : 



I 




But after tempest, when the long wave broke 
All down the thundering shores of Bude and 

Bos, 
There came a day as still as heaven, and then 
They found a naked child upon the sands 
Of dark Tintagil by the Cornish sea ; 
And that was Arthur ; and they foster'd him 
Till he by miracle was approve n King : 
And that his grave should be a mystery 
From all men, like his birth ; and could he find 
A woman in her womanhood as great 
As he was in his manhood, then, he sang. 
The twain together well might change the world. 
But even in the middle of his song 
He falter'd, and his hand fell from the harp, 

le turn'd, and reePd, and would have 



nor would he 




what doubt that he foresaw 
Lancelot and the Queen?" 



e Queen, " Lo ! they have set 



g Abbess and her nuns, 
and bow'd lier head nor spake, 
ice crying, with claspYl hands. 



! 



S 







Shame on her own garruHty garrulously, 

Said the good nuns would check her gadding 

tongue 
Full often, " and, sweet lady, if I seem 
To vex an ear too sad to listen to me, 
Unmannerly, with prattling and the tales 
Which my good father told me, check me too. 
Nor let me shame my father's memory, one 
Of noblest manners, tho' himself would say 
Sir Lancelot had the noblest ; and he died, 
Kiird in a tilt, come next, live summers back, 
And left me ; but of others who remain, 
And of the two first-famed for courtesy — 
And pray you check me if I ask amiss — 
But pray you which had noblest, while you 

moved 
Among them, Lancelot or our lord the King?" 

Then the pale Queen look'd up and answer'd 
her, 
" Sir Lancelot, as became a noble knight, 
Was gracious to all ladies, and the same 
In open battle or the tilting-field 
Forebore his own advantage, and the King 
In open battle or the tilting-field 
Forebore his own advantage, and these two 
Were the most nobly-manner'd men of all ; 
For manners are not idle, but the fruit 
Of loyal nature, and of noble mind." 



\h 




" Yea," said the maid, " be manners such fair 
fruit ? 
Then Lancelot's needs must be a thousand-fold 
Less noble, being, as all rumor runs, 
The most disloyal friend in all the world." 

To which a mournful answer made the Queen : 
" O closed about by narrowing nunnery-walls. 
What knowest thou of the world, and all its 

lights 
And shadows, all the wealth and all the woe? 
If ever Lancelot, that most noble knight. 
Were for one hour less noble than himself. 
Pray for him that he scape the doom of fire. 
And weep for her who drew him to his doom/' 

"Yea," said the little novice, "I pray for 
both ; 
But I should all as soon believe that his, 
Sir Lancelot's, were as noble as the King's, 
As I could think, sweet lady, yours would be 
Such as they are, were you the sinful Queen." 

So she, like many another babbler, hurt 
Whom she would soothe, and harm'd where she 

would heal ; 
For here a sudden flush of wrathful heat 
Fired all the pale face of the Queen, who cried, 
" Such as thou art be never maiden more 






5 






GUINEVERE. 



'•"'XI 



For ever ! thou their tool, set on to plague 
And play upon, and harry me, petty spy 
And traitress." When that storm of anger brake 
From Guinevere, aghast the maiden rose. 
White as her veil, and stood before the Queen 
As tremulously as foam upon the beach 
Stands in a wind, ready to break and fly, 
And when the Queen had added "Get thee 

hence," 
Fled frighted. Then that other left alone 
Sighed, and began to gather heart again. 
Saying in herself. " The simple, fearful child 
Meant nothing, but my own too-fearful guilt. 
Simpler than any child, betrays itself. 
But help me, heaven, for surely I repent. 
For what is true repentance but in thought — 
Not ev"n in inmost thought to think again 
The sins that made the past so pleasant to us : 
And I have sworn never to see him more, 
To see him more." 

And ev'n in saying this, 
Her memory from old habit of the mind 
Went slipping back upon the golden days 
In which she saw him first, when Lancelot came, 
Reputed the best knight and goodliest man, 
Ambassador, to lead her to his lord 
Arthur, and led her forth, and far ahead 
Of his and her retinue moving, they. 



5 









Rapt in sweet talk or lively, all on love 

And sport and tilts and pleasure, (for the time 

Was maytime, and as yet no sin was dream'd,) 

Rode under groves that look'd a paradise 

Of blossom, over sheets of hyacinth 

That seem'd the heavens upbreaking thro' the 

earth. 
And on from hill to hill, and every day 
Beheld at noon in some delicious dale 
The silk pavilions of King Arthur raised 
For brief repast or afternoon repose 
By couriers gone before ; and on again, 
Till yet once more ere set of sun they saw 
The Dragon of the great Pendragonship, 
That crown'd the state pavilion of the King, 
Blaze by the rushing brook or silent well. 

But when the Queen immersed in such a trance. 
And moving thro' the past unconsciously. 
Came to that point where first she saw the King 
Ride toward her from the city, sigh'd to find 
Her journey done, glanced at him, thought him 

cold, 
High, self-contain"d, and passionless, not like 

him, 
"Not like my Lancelot " — while she brooded 

thus 
And grew half-guilty in her thoughts again, 
There rode an arm^d warrior to the doors. 




A murmuring whisper thro' the nunnery ran. 
Then on a sudden a cry, "The King." She 

sat 
Stiff-stricken, listening ; but when arm^d feet 
Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors 
Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell, 
And grovell'd with her face against the floor : 
There with her milkwhite arms and shadowy 

hair 
She made her face a darkness from the King : 
And in the darkness heard his arm^d feet 
Pause by her ; then came silence, then a voice. 
Monotonous and hollow like a Ghost's 
Denouncing judgment, but tho' changed, the 

King's : 



" Liest thou here so low, the child of one 
I honor'd, happy, dead before thy shame? 
Well is it that no child is born of thee. 
The children born of thee are sword and fire, 
Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws. 
The craft of kindred and the Godless hosts 
Of heathen swarming o'er the Northern Sea; 
Whom I, while yet Sir Lancelot, my right arm 
The mightiest of my knights, abode with me, 
Have everywhere about this land of Christ 
In twelve great battles ruining overthrown. 
And knowest thou now from w^hence I come — 
from him. 






w 




From waging bitter war with him : and he, 
That did not shun to smite me in worse way. 
Had yet that grace of courtesy in him left, 
He spared to lift his liand against the King 
Who made him knight : but many a knight was 

slain ; 
And many more, and all his kith and kin 
Clave to him, and abode in his own land. 
And many more when Modred raised revolt 
Forgetful of their troth and fealty, clave 
To Modred, and a remnant stays with me. 
And of this remnant will I leave a part. 
True men who love me still, for whom I live, 
To guard thee in the wild hour coming on. 
Lest but a hair of this low head be harm'd. 
Fear not : thou shalt be guarded till my death. 
Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies 
Have err'd not, that I march to meet my doom. 
Thou hast not made my life so sweet to me, 
That I the King should greatly care to live ; 
For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life. 
Bear with me for the last time while I show, 
Ev"n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinn'd. 
For when the Roman left us, and their law 
Relaxed its hold upon us, and the ways 
Were filPd with rapine, here and there a deed 
Of prowess done redress'd a random wrong. 
But I was first of all the kings who drew 
The knisflithood-errant of this renlm and all 



k-2^> 








i' I 



The realms together under me, their Head, 

In that fair Order of my Table Round, 

A glorious company, the flower of men. 

To serve as model for the mighty world. 

And be the fair beginning of a time. 

I made them lay their hands in mine and swear 

To reverence the King, as if he were 

Their conscience, and their conscience as their 

King, 
To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, 
To ride abroad redressing human wrongs. 
To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it. 
To honor his own word as if his God's, 
To lead sweet lives in purest chastity. 
To love one maiden only, cleave to her. 
And worship her by years of noble deeds, 
Until they won her ; for indeed I knew 
Of no more subtle master under heaven 
Than is the maiden passion for a maid. 
Not only to keep down the base in man. 
But teach high thought, and amiable words 
And courtliness, and the desire of fame. 
And love of truth, and all that makes a man 
And all this throve before I wedded thee. 
Believing, ' lo mine helpmate, one to feel 
My purpose and rejoicing in my joy.' 
Then came thy shameful sin with Lancelot ; 
Then came the sin of Tristram and Isolt ; 



b 
i 






5 







If 



And drawing foul ensample from fair names, 
Sinn'd also, till the loathsome opposite 
Of all my heart had destined did obtain, 
And all thro' thee ! so that this life of mine 
I guard as God's high gift from scathe and 

wrong, 
Not greatly care to lose ; but rather think 
How sad it were for Arthur, should he live. 
To sit once more within his lonely hall. 
And miss the wonted number of my knights, 
And miss to hear high talk of noble deeds 
As in the golden days before thy sin. 
For which of us, who might be left, could speak 
Of the pure heart, nor seem to glance at thee? 
And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk 
Thy shadow still would glide from room to room, 
And I should evermore be vext with thee 
In hanging robe or vacant ornament, 
Or ghostly footfall echoing on the stair. 
For think not, tho' thou wouldst not love thy 

lord, 
Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee. 
I am not made of so slight elements. 
Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy shame. 
I hold that man the worst of public foes 
Who either for his own or children's sake, 
To save his blood from scandal, lets the wife 
Whom he knows false, abide and rule the house : 
For being thro' his cowardice allow'd 



^^^::^^^f^^ 




Her station, taken everywhere for pure, 
She like a new disease, unknown to men, ^ 

Creeps, no precaution used, among the crowd, 
Makes wicked lightnings of her eyes, and saps 
The fealty of our friends, and stirs the pulse 
With deviPs leaps, and poisons half the young. 
Worst of the worst were that man he that reigns ! 
Better the King's waste hearth and aching heart 
Than thou reseated in thy place of light. 
The mockery of my people, and their bane." 



He paused, and in the pause she crept an inch 
Nearer, and laid her hands about his feet. 
Far off a solitar\- trumpet blew. 
Then waiting by the doors the warhorse neigh'd 
As at a friend's voice, and he spake again : 



" Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes, 
I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, 
I, whose vast pity almost makes me die 
To see thee, laying there thy golden head, 
My pride in happier summers, at my feet. 
The wrath which forced my thoughts on that 

fierce law. 
The doom of treason and the flaming death, 
(When first I learnt thee hidden here) is past. 
The pang — which while I weighed thy heart 

with one 
Too wholly true to dream untruth in thee, 



\6] 



5 




d 




Made my tears burn — is also past — in part. 
And all is past, the sin is sinn'd, and I, 
Lo ! I forgive thee, as Eternal God 
Forgives : do thou for thine own soul the rest. 
But how to take last leave of all I loved? 

golden hair, with which I used to play 
Not knowing ! O imperial-moulded form, 
And beauty such as never woman wore. 
Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee — 

1 cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine. 

But Lancelot's : nay, they never were the King's. 

I cannot take thy hand ; that too is flesh. 

And in the flesh thou hast sinn'd ; and mine own 

flesh. 
Here looking down on thine polluted, cries 
' I loathe thee : ' yet not less, O Guinevere, 
For I was ever virgin save for thee, 
My love thro' flesh hath wrought into my life 
So far, that my doom is, I love thee still. 
Let no man dream but that I love thee still. 
Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul. 
And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, 
Hereafter in that world where all are pure 
We two may meet before high God, and thou 
Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know 
I am thine husband — not a smaller soul. 
Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that, 
I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence. 
Thro' the thick night I hear the trumpet blow : 



5 








They summon me their King to lead mine 

hosts 
Far down to that great battle in the west, 
Where I must strike against the man they call 
My. sister's son — no kin of mine, who leagues 
With Lords of the White Horse, heathen, and 

knights. 
Traitors — and strike him dead, and meet my- 
self 
Death, or I know not what mysterious doom. 
And thou remaining here wilt learn the event ; 
But hither shall I never come again, 
Never lie by thy side ; see thee no more — 
Farewell ! " 

And while she grovelPd at his feet. 
She felt the King's breath wander o'er her neck. 
And in the darkness o'er her fallen head, 
Perceived the waving of his hands that blest. 



Then, listening till those arm^d steps were 

gone, 
Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found 
The casement : " Peradventure," so she thought, 
" If I might see his face, and not be seen." 
And lo, he sat on horseback at the door ! 
And near him the sad nuns with each a light 
Stood, and he gave them charge about the 

Queen, 




,011 



t 



i 

rV' 



I 




^^:i- 



m 



To guard and foster her for evermore. 
And while he spake to these his hehn was lowered, 
To which for crest the golden dragon clung 
Of Britain ; so she did not see the face, 
Which then was as an angel's, but she saw, 
Wet with the mists and smitten by the lights, 
The Dragon of the great Pendragonship 
Blaze, making all the night a steam of fire. 
And even then he turned ; and more and more 
The moony vapor rolling round the King, 
Who seem'd the phantom of a Giant in it, 
Enwound him fold by fold, and make him gray 
And grayer, till himself became as mist 
Before her, moving ghostlike to his doom. 

Then she stretched out her arms and cried 
aloud 
" Oh Arthur ! " there her voice brake suddenly, 
Then — as a stream that spouting from a cliff 
Fails in mid air, but gathering at the base 
Re-makes itself, and flashes down the vale — 
Went on in passionate utterance : 

" Gone — my lord ! 
■Gone thro' my sin to slay and to be slain ! 
And he forgave me, and I could not speak. 
Farewell? I should have answer'd his farewell. 
His mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the King, 
My own true lord ! how dare I call him mine? 
The shadow of another cleaves to me, 







And makes me one pollution : he, the King, 

Caird me polluted : shall I kill myself? 

What help in that? I cannot kill my sin. 

If soul be soul ; nor can I kill my shame ; 

No, nor by living can I live it down. 

The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to 

months, 
The months will add themselves and make the 

years. 
The years will roll into the centuries. 
And mine will ever be a name of scorn. 
I must not dwell on that defeat of fame. 
Let the world be ; that is but of the world 
What else ? what hope? I think there was a hope, 
Except he mock'd me when he spake of hope ; 
His hope he calFd it; but he never mocks, 
For mockery is the fume of little hearts. 
And blessed be the King, who hath forgiven 
My wickedness to him, and left me hope 
That in mine own heart I can live down sin 
And be his mate hereafter in the heavens 
Before high God. Ah great and gentle lord, 
Who wast, as is the conscience of a saint 
Among his warring senses, to thy knights — 
To whom my false voluptuous pride, that took 
Full easily all impressions from below, 
Would not look up, or half-despised the height 
To which I would not or I could not climb — 
1 thought I could not breathe in that fine air 



,011 



i^ 



c 



\ 






f ' ' j^w 




That pure severity of perfect light — 
I wanted warmth and color which I found 
In Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art. 
Thou art the highest and most human too. 
Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none 
Will tell the King I love him tho' so late? 
Now — ere he goes to the great Battle ? none : 
Myself must tell him in that purer life, 
But now it were too daring. Ah my God, 
What might I not have made of thy fair world. 
Had I but loved thy highest creature here? 
It was my duty to have loved the highest : 
It surely was my profit had I known : 
It would have been my pleasure had I seen. 
We needs must love the highest when we see it, 
Not Lancelot, nor another." 

Here her hand 
Grasp'd, made her veil her eyes : she look'd and 

saw 
The novice, weeping, suppliant, and said to her, 
" Yea, little maid, for am / not forgiven? " 
Then glancing up beheld the holy nuns 
All round her, weeping ; and her heart was loosed 
Within her, and she wept with these and said. 

" Ye know me then, that wicked one who broke 
The vast design and purpose of the King. 
O shut me round with narrowing nunnery-walls, 
Meek maidens, from the voices crying ' shame.' 




I must not scorn myself: he loves me still. 
Let no one dream but that he loves me still. 
So let me, if you do not shudder at me, 
Nor shun to call me sister, dwell with you ; 
Wear black and white, and be a nun like you. 
Fast with your fasts, not feasting with your feasts ; 
Grieve with your griefs, not grieving at your joys, 
But not rejoicing ; mingle with your rites ; 
Pray and be pray'd for ; lie before your shrines ; 
Do each low office of your holy house ; 
Walk your dim cloister, and distribute dole 
To poor sick people, richer in His eyes 
Who ransom'd us, and haler too than I ; 
And treat their loathsome hurts and heal mine 



i^3 




\ 



And so wear out in almsdeed and in prayer 
The sombre close of that voluptuous day. 
Which wrought the ruin of my lord the King." 

She said : they took her to themselves ; and she 
Still hoping, fearing " is it yet too late?" 
Dwelt with them, till in time their Abbess died. 
Then she, for her good deeds and her pure life 
And for the power of ministration in her. 
And likewise for the high rank she had borne. 
Was chosen Abbess, there, an Abbess, lived 
For three brief years, and there, an Abbess, past 
To where beyond these voices there is peace 

End of " The Round Table.'''' 






''fm 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 373 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, 
First made and latest left of all the knights. 
Told, when the man was no more than a voice 
In the white winter of his age, to those 
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds. 

For on their march to westward, Bedivere, 
Who slowly paced among the slumbering host, 
Heard in his tent the meanings of the King : 



" I found Him in the shining of the stars, 
I mark'd Him in the flowering of His fields. 
But in His ways with men I find Him not. 
I waged His wars, and now I pass and die. 
O me ! for why is all around us here 
As if some lesser god had made the world, 
But had not force to shape it as he would, 
Till the High God behold it from beyond. 
And enter it, and make it beautiful? 
Or else as if the world were wholly fair. 
But that these eyes of men are dense and dim, 
And have not power to see it as it is : 





^' I 







^•'■) 374 ^^^ PASSnVG OF ARTHUR. 



Perchance, because we see not to the close ; — 
For I, being simple, thought to work His will, 
And have but stricken with the sword in vain ; 
And all whereon I lean'd in wife and friend 
Is traitor to my peace, and all my realm 
Reels back into the beast, and is no more. 
My God, thou hast forgotten me in my death : 
Nay — God my Christ — I pass but shall not die." 

Then, ere that last weird battle in the west. 
There came on Arthur sleeping, Gawain kill'd 
In Lancelot's war, the ghost of Gawain blown 
Along a wandering wind, and past his ear 
Went shrilling, " Hollow, hollow all delight ! 
Hail, King ! to-morrow thou shalt pass away. 
Farewell ! there is an isle of rest for thee. 
And I am blown along a wandering wind. 
And hollow, hollow, hollow all delight." 
And fainter onward, like wild birds that change 
Their season in the night and wail their way 
From cloud to cloud, down the long wind the 

dream 
Shriird ; but in going mingled with dim cries 
Far in the moonlit haze among the hills. 
As of some lonely city sack'd by night. 
When all is lost, and wife and child with wail 
Pass to new lords ; and Arthur woke and call'd, 
•' Who spake ? A dream. O light upon the wind. 
Thine. Gawain, w-as the voice — are these dim 

cries 




•ih'l 



5 



THE FASS/XG OF ARTHi'h\ 375 




Thine ? or doth all that haunts the waste and wild 
Mourn, knowing it will go along with me ? " 



This heard the bold Sir Bedivere and spake 
" O me, my King, let pass whatever will, 
Elves, and the harmless glamour of the field ; 
But in their stead thy name and glory cling 
To all high places like a golden cloud 
For ever : but as yet thou shalt not pass. 
Light was Gawain in life, and light in death 
Is Gawain, for the ghost is as the man ; 
And care not thou for dreams from him, 

rise — 

I hear the steps of Modred in the west, 
And with him many of thy people, and knights 
Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser 

grown 
Than heathen, spitting at their vows and thee. 
Right well in heart they know thee for the King. 
Arise, go forth and conquer as of old." 



Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" Far other is this battle in the west 
Whereto we move, than when we strove in youth, 
And brake the petty kings, and fought with Rome, 
Or thrust the heathen from the Roman wall. 
And shook him thro' the north. Ill doom is mine 
To war against my people and my knights. 
The king who fights his people fights himself. 



but \ 



MiVO' 




THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 



And they my knights, who loved me once, the 

stroke 
That strikes them dead is as my death to me. 
Yet let us hence, and find or feel a way 
Thro' this blind haze, which ever since I saw 
One lying in the dust at Almesbury, 
Hath folded in the passes of the world." 




Then rose the King and moved his host by 

night. 
And ever push'd Sir Modred, league by league, 
Back to the sunset bound of Lyonnesse — 
A land of old upheaven from the abyss 
B\' fire, to sink into the abyss again ; 
Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt, 
And the long mountains ended in a coast 
Of ever-shifting sand, and far away 
The phantom circle of a moaning sea. 
There the pursuer could pursue no more. 
And he that fled no further fly the King ; 
And there, that day when the great light of 

heaven 
Burned at his lowest in the rolling year. 
On the waste sand by the waste sea they closed. 
Nor ever yet had Arthur fought a fight 
Like this last, dim, weird battle of the west. 
A deathwhite mist slept over sand and sea : 
Whereof the chill, to him who breathed it, drew 
Down with his blood, till all his heart was cold 




s 



I 



i 



m 



.^^ 



T//E PASSING OF ARTHUR. 377 

With formless fear ; and ev'n on Arthur fell 
Confusion, since he saw not whom he fought. 
For friend and foe were shadows in the mist, 
And friend slew friend not knowing whom he 

slew ; 
And some had visions out of golden youth, 
And some beheld the faces of old ghosts 
Look in upon the battle ; and in the mist 
Was many a noble deed, many a base. 
And chance and craft and strength in single 

fights, 
And ever and anon with host to host 
Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail 

hewn. 
Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the 

crash 
Of battleaxes on shattered helms, and shrieks 
After the Christ, of those who falling down 
LookM up for heaven, and only saw the mist ; 
And shouts of heathen aftd the traitor knights. 
Oaths, insult, filth, and monstrous blasphemies. 
Sweat, writhings, anguish, laboring of the lungs 
In that close mist, and cryings for the light, 
Moans of the dying, and voices of the dead. 

Last, as by some one deathbed after wail 
Of suffering, silence follows, or thro' death 
Or deathlike swoon, thus over all that shore, 
Save for some whisper of the seething seas. 




5 



:^^^^^^ 





A dead hush fell ; but when the dolorous day 
Grew drearier toward twilight falling, came 
A bitter wind, clear from the North, and blew 
The mist aside, and with that wind the tide 
Rose, and the pale King glanced across the tield 
Of battle : but no man was moving there ; 
Nor any cry of Christian heard thereon, 
Nor yet of heathen ; only the wan wave 
Brake in among dead faces, to and fro 
Swaying the helpless hands, and up and down 
Tumbling the hollow helmets of the fallen. 
And shiver'd brands that once had fought with 

Rome, 
And rolling far along the gloomy shores 
The voice of days of old and days to be. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere, 
And whiter than the mist that all day long 
Had held the field of battle was the King : 

" Hearest thou this great voice that shakes 
the world, 
And wastes the narrow realm whereon we move, 
And beats upon the faces of the dead. 
My dead, as tho' they had not died for me? — 
O Bedivere, for on my heart hath falPn 
Confusion, till I know not what I am, 
Nor whence I am, nor whether I be King. 
Behold, I seem but King among the dead." 



KM 



\ 



I 



(o) 

4 



•S': 

4 



Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere : " My 

King, 
King everywhere! and so the dead have kings, 
There also will I worship thee as King. 
Yet still thy life is whole, and still I live 
Who love thee ; but who hates thee, he that 

brought 
The heathen back among us, yonder stands, 
Modred, unharm'd, the traitor of thine house." 

Then spake the King: " My house hath been 

my doom. 
But call not thou this traitor of my house 
Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof with me. 
My house are rather they who swear my vows, 
Yea, even while they brake them, own'd me 

King. 
And well for thee, saying in my dark hour, 
W^hen all the purport of my throne hath faiPd, 
That quick or dead thou boldest me for King. 
King am I, whatsoever be their cry ; 
And one last act of kinghood shalt thou see 
Yet, ere I pass." And uttering this the King 
Made at the man : then Alodred smote his 




Hard on that helm which many a heathen sword 
Had beaten thin ; while Arthur at one blow. 
Striking the last stroke with Excalibur, 
Slew him, and all but slain himself, he fell. 



380 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 



So all day long the noise of battle rolPd 
Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 
Until King Arthur's Table, man by man, 
Had fallii in Lyonnesse about their lord, 
King Arthur. Then, because his wound was 

deep. 
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. 
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. 
A broken chancel with a broken cross. 
That stood on a dark strait of barren land : 
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 
Lay a great water, and the moon w'as full. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" The sequel of to-day unsolders all 
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we 
Shall never more, at any future time. 
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. 
Walking about the gardens and the halls 
Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
I perish by this people which I made, — 
Tho' Merlin swear that I should come again 
To rule once more ; but, let what will be, be. 
I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm 
That without help I cannot last till morn. 
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, 
Which was my pride : for thou rememberest how 



4 
4 



s 



<? 




(§ 



'0 



T//£ PASS/XG OF AKTIiUK. 381 

In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
Holding the sword — and how I row'd across 
And took it, and have worn it, like a king ; 
And, wheresoever I am sung or told 
In aftertime, this also shall be known : 
But now delay not : take Excalibur, 
And fling him far into the middle mere : 
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me 
word." 

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, 
Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm — 
A little thing may harm a wounded man ; 
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. 
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." 

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept, 
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. 
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. 
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang 
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping 

down 
By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, 
Came on the shining levels of the lake. 



There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, 
And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, 




382 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 



Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth 
And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : 
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. 
Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-worlc 
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long 
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood, 
This way and that dividing the swift mind. 
In act to throw : but at the last it seem'd 
Better to leave Excalibur concealed 
There in the many-knotted waterflags, 
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. 
So strode he back slow to the wounded King. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" Hast thou perform''d my mission which I gave? 
What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ? " 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" I heard the ripple washing in the reeds. 
And the wild water lapping on the crag." 

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale : 
" Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name, 
Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd 
Thy fealty, nor like a noble kniglit : 
For surer sign had followed, either hand, 
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 
This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again, 




i 



5 




t 



•,o. 



..•/ 



THE 



As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing 

I liade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word." 

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time 
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere. 
Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought ; 
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, 
How curiously and strangely chased, he smote 
His palms together, and he cried aloud : 

" And if indeed I cast the brand away, 
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, 
Should thus be lost for ever from the earth, 
Which might have pleased the eyes of many 

men. 
What good should follow this, if this were done? 
What harm, undone ? Deep harm to disobey. 
Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand 
An act unprofitable, against himself? 
The King is sick, and knows not what he does. 
What record, or what relic of my lord 
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath 
And rumors of a doubt? But were this kept. 
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. 
Some one might show it at a joust of arms. 
Saying, ' King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 
Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps 








ARTHUR. 



Upon the hidden bases of the hills/ 
So might some old man speak in the aftertime 
To all the people, winning reverence. 
But now much honor and much fame were 
lost." 

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit. 
And hid Excalibur the second time, 
And so strode back slow to the wounded King. 






4 
i 



i\ 



Then spoke King Arthur breathing heavily : 
"What is it thou hast seen? or what hast 
heard?" 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
*' I heard the water lapping on the crag, 
And the long ripple washing in the reeds." 



To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : 
" Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! 
Authority forgets a dying king. 
Laid widow'd of the power in his eye 
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art, 
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights. 
In whom should meet the offices of all. 
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt ; 
Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 



5 




THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 385 



Yet. for a man may fail in duty twice. 

And the third time may prosper, get thee hence : 

But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 

I will arise and slay thee with my hands. 

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, 
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
Among the bulrush beds, and clutch'd the sword. 
And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great 

brand 
Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon. 
And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an 

arch. 
Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, 
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
By night, with noises of the Northern Sea. 
So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : 
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
And lightly went the other to the King. 

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker 
breath : 
" Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. 
Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen ?" 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 




"k>^ 




Should blind my purpose, for I never saw. 
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, 
Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men. 
So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him : 
But when I look'd again, behold an arm. 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere." 



And answer made King Arthur, breathing 
hard : 
" My end draws nigh ; 'tis time that I were gone. 
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. 
And bear me to the margin ; yet I fear 
My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."' 



i* 




So saying, from the pavement he half rose. 
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm. 
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere 
Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears, 
And would have spoken, but he found not words ; 
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee. 
O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. 
And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. 

But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard. 
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 387 



When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King, 
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, " Quick, 

quick ! 
Jf/j^. I fear it is too late, and I shall die." 

But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. 
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he 

walk'd. 
Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 
Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. 
Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves 
And barren chasms, and all to left and right 
The bare black cliff clang'd round him. as he 

based 
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels — 
And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake, 
And the long glories of the winter moon. 



it 



IS 



Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. 
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, 
Beneath them ; and descending they were ware 
That all the decks were dense with stately forms, 
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream — by 

these 
Three Queens with crowns of gold : and from 

them rose 
A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars. 
And, as it were one voice, an agony 



kZ^\ 




388 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills 

All night in a waste land, where no one comes. 

Or hath come, since the making of the world. 



il 



m 



Then murmur'd Arthur, " Place me in the 

barge." 
So to the barge they came. There those three 

Queens 
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and 

wept . 
But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, 
And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his 

hands, 
And caird him by his name, complaining loud. 
And dropping bitter tears against a brow 
Striped with dark blood : for all his face was 

white 
And colorless, and like the wither'd moon 
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; 
And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops 
Of onset ; and the light and lustrous curls — 
That made his forehead like a rising sun 
High from the dais-throne — were parch'd with 

dust ; 
Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, 
Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his 

lips. 
So like a shattered column lay the King ; 





I 'P.' 

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 389 Vt)J 

Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, 
From spur to plume a star of tournament. 
Shot thro' the lists at Camelot. and charged 
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 



Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere : 
'•Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? 
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes ? 
For now I see the true old times are dead, 
When every morning brought a noble chance. 
And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
Such times have been not since the light that 
led 

y / The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 

^ ^ But now the whole Round Table is dissolved 
Which was an image of the mighty world. 
And I, the last, go forth companionless. 
And the days darken round me, and the years, 
Among new men, strange faces, other minds." 

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge : 
" The old order changeth, yielding place to new. 
And God fulfils himself in many ways, 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? 
I have lived my life, and that which I have done 
May He within himself make pure ! but thou, 
If thou shouldst never see my face again, 
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by 
prayer 



Jl 




39° THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy 

voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
For what are men better than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those who call them 

friend ? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 
But now farewell. I am going a long way 
With these thou seest — if indeed I go 
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) — 
To the island-valley of Avilion ; 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
Nor ever mind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns 
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea. 
Where I will heal me of mv grievous wound." 



% 



So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted 

swan 
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death. 
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
Revolving many memories, till the hull 
Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
And on the mere the wailing died away. 





But when that moan had past for evermore, 
The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn 
Amazed him, and he groan'd, "The King is 

gone." 
And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme, 
" From the great deep to the great deep he 



Whereat he slowly turn'd and slowly clomb 
The last hard footstep of that iron crag ; 
Thence mark'd the black hull moving yet, and 

cried, 
" He passes to be King among the dead. 
And after healing of his grievous wound 
He comes again ; but — if he come no more — 
O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat. 
Who shriek'd and wail'd, the three whereat we 

gazed 
On that high day, when, clothed with living 

light. 
They stood before his throne in silence, friends 
Of Arthur, who should help him at his need? " 



Then from the dawn it seem'd there came, 
but faint 
As from beyond the limit of the world, 
Like the last echo born of a great cry. 
Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice 
Around a kins: returning: from his wars. 





Thereat once 
clomb 
Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw. 
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand, 
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King, 
Down that long water opening on the deep 
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go 
From less to less and vanish into light. 
And the new sun rose bringing the new year. 




^ 




■•SJi 

1^2 




O LOYAL to the royal in thyself, 
And loyal to thy land, as this to thee — 
Bear witness, that rememberable day, 
When, pale as yet, and fever-worn, the Prince 
Who scarce had pluck'd his flickering life again 
From halfway down the shadow of the grave. 
Past with thee thro' thy people and their love. 
And London rolFd one tide of joy thro' all 
Her trebled millions, and loud leagues of man 
And welcome! witness, too, the silent crv. 
The prayer of many a race and creed, and 

clime — 
Thunderless lightnings striking under sea 
From sunset and sunrise of all thy realm, 
And that true North, whereof we lately heard 
A strain to shame us " keep you to yourselves ; 
So loyal is too costly ! friends. — your love 
Is but a burthen : loose the bond, and go." 
Is this the tone of empire ? here the faith 
That made us rulers? this, indeed, her voice 
And meaning, whom the roar of Hougoumont 
Left mightiest of all peoples under heaven? 




TO THE QUEEN. 



What shock has foord her since, that she should 

speak 
So feebly? wealthier — wealthier — hourbv hour' 
The voice of Britain, or a sinking land, 
Some third-rate isle half-lost among her seas ? 
There rang her voice, when the full city peal'd 
Thee and thy Prince ! The loyal to their crown 
Are loyal to their own far sons, who love 
Our ocean-empire with her boundless homes 
For ever-broadening England, and her throne 
In our vast Orient, and one isle, one isle. 
That knows not her own greatness : if she knows 
And dreads it we are falPn. — But thou, my 

Queen. 
Not for itself, but thro' thy living love 
For one to whom I made it o'er his grave 
Sacred, accept this old imperfect tale. 
New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul 
Rather than that gray king, whose name, a ghost. 
Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain 

peak. 
And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still ; or him 
Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's, one 
Touched by the adulterous finger of a time 
That hover'd between war and wantonness, 
And crownings and dethronements : take withal 
Thy poet's blessing, and his trust that Heaven 
Will blow the tempest in the distance back 
From thine and ours : for some are sacred, who 

mark, 






<^ 






Or wisely or unwisely, signs of storm. 
Waverings of every vane with every wind, 
And wordy trucklings to the transient hour. 
And fierce or careless looseners of the faith, 
And Softness breeding scorn of simple life, 
Or Cowardice, the child of lust for gold. 
Or Labor, with a groan and not a voice, 
Or Art with poisonous honey stol'n from France, 
And that which knows, but careful for itself. 
And that which knows not, ruling that which 

knows 
To its own hai-m : the goal of this great world 
Lies beyond sight : yet — if our slowly-grown 
And crowned Republic's crowning common-sense. 
That saved her many times, not fail — their 

fears 
Are morning shadows huger than the shapes 
That cast them, not those gloomier which forego 
The darkness of that battle in the West, 
Where all of high and holy dies away. 



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